


Little Girl Lost

by TheLadyBath



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-19 01:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyBath/pseuds/TheLadyBath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya has been keeping a secret about something very near and dear to his heart. Now the KGB have it and plan on using it to control him. Napoleon and Gaby have other ideas. The KGB does not stand a chance when these three are involved. Some romance perhaps to come. Caring/protective Illya. Napoleon discovering he can actually care about a woman. Adventure. Hurt/Comfort and Angst. PLEASE NOTE ADULT/SEXUAL CONTENT IN CHAPTER 15</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kuryakin and Solo stood on the balcony overlooking the beauties of Rome and St. Peter's Square.   
"I absolutely hated working with you, Peril" Solo said as he raised his glass of scotch toward the Russian.   
"You are a terrible spy, Cowboy" the other replied, also raising his glass. Both men looked at the computer tape that was burning in the ashtray and exchanged satisfied smiles. Balance of power had been maintained.   
Just then Waverly walked in with Gaby. Illya's heart skipped a beat just looking at the brown-haired woman, and Solo could not avoid a smile when he saw the look on his friend’s face.   
"So I have news,", Waverly said, as he glanced from man to man and to the little bonfire that they had started. "A fresh little unpleasantness has arisen. I have spoken to your superiors and now that we are all such good friends, they have kindly agreed to let me to keep the team together for a little while longer."   
Solo and Kuryakin. Looked at each other with a mixture of disbelief, excitement and hope. Waverly continued. "We leave in an hour."   
"Where are we going?" Kuryakin asked, his voice much sharper than he had intended.   
"Istanbul," Waverly replied as he turned to go. "And you have a new code name...its rather a good one...U.N.C.L.E"   
Gaby looked at Solo and then smiled at Kuryakin as she followed her boss out. "Come along, boys," she said, "you wouldn't want to be late."   
Illya was packing his valise when there was a quiet knock on his door. Thinking that it was Gaby, he responded, “Come in.”   
“Mr. Kuryakin?” the voice was male and tentative. Illya looked up to see a young man in a bellhop’s uniform. “A message was just delivered for you, Sir. I was told it was urgent.”   
Illya saw the unmistakable imprint of the Russian embassy on the envelope and his heart began to beat faster. “Thank you,” he said as he tipped the young man.   
Once the door was closed, he tore open the seal and quickly skimmed the contents. His eyes narrowed and his fingers began to beat a tattoo against his leg. Somehow, he managed to control himself. He took several breaths, closed his valise and headed downstairs to Napoleon Solo’s room.   
Napoleon and Gaby were in his suite. Napoleon had his scotch and Gaby was sipping a glass of wine. They both looked up with smiles when Illya entered.   
“A drink before we go,” Napoleon offered.   
“No,” Illya responded.   
"Well, come on, then, the car is waiting downstairs,” Solo said reaching out to pat the other man's shoulder. He was stunned when Kuryakin, batted his hand away.   
"No," the Russian said emphatically. "I’m not going."   
Solo smiled. "I'm not sure that you have a choice."   
"Regardless. I am going back to Russia." The man could be stubborn as a bull. "I am not going to be part of this 'Uncle'," Kuryakin insisted.   
"And why not?" Solo was getting curious. It was not like his friend to want to abandon a mission.   
"Its not important," the bigger man said as he turned away from Solo and started to head to the door.   
"Peril? What the hell is going on here? Talk to me.” Solo pressed, as he grabbed the other man's shoulder trying to get him to stop and turn around; that proved to be a mistake.   
Kuryakin whirled on Solo with incredible speed and had the other man by the front of the shirt as he drove the American into the nearest wall. His eyes were blazing, but not with some maniacal, barely controlled rage. They were alight with fear and desperation. "They have my little sister,” he grated through clenched teeth. “They will kill her if I do not follow their orders to the letter. I must save her before they hurt her anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

"Little sister?" Solo's question seemed to break through to Kuryakin who immediately stepped back with his hands in front of him.   
"I am sorry, Cowboy," he said, but Solo was not one to waste time. He stepped over to the bar and poured his friend several fingers worth of scotch and did not bother to add any ice. He silently handed him the glass while Gaby walked him over to the couch and sat him down so that he was facing her. Solo took a seat across from his friend as well.   
Kuryakin looked across to the only two people in the world that he knew he could trust. He raked his fingers through his blond hair, pulling has hands across his face as if exhausted. "Her name is Irina," he started, "and she is ten years younger than me. She was born three months before my father...,"he trailed away. Solo and Gaby nodded; there was no need to go over this part of history again. "She is the only family I have. One of the reasons that I went into the Special Forces and the KGB was so that she could have advantages – better schools, better jobs; that’s how it works in my country," he said with a bitter laugh.   
"They took her the day I left for the mission in Germany. Took her and sent her to the Gulag, The same one that they had sent my father to. In Siberia. Near the Bering Strait" Kuryakin continued. "I would never have known it. We do not communicate when I am on a mission."   
"They? The KGB?" Gaby asked and was rewarded by a curt nod. "But why?"   
Kuryakin shrugged. "It’s a reminder to me who owns me. Who controls me. They never want you to forget that they have all the power. Maybe to punish me. Many family members have been sent to Gulags if soldiers or agents are not as successful as the government thinks they should be. Every time I did not perform as they want or every time I did not obey an order, they punish me by punishing her." Kuryakin held up the envelope with the seal of the Russian embassy and passed it to Solo. Solo opened it and looked at the contents, his face stark and hard and his lips compressing into a hard line.He saw the letter, written in Russian, but what drew his attention was the photograph. A young woman sat in a chair and although restraints were not obviously visible, she was clearly somehow bound. Her face was tilted upward and Solo thought that it was because somebody was pulling her hair from behind. Even looking closely, he could not discern her features as they were marred by bruising and what could only have been blood.   
"I received this just now," Kuryakin continued. "It is dated four days ago. You can see how they have been....," his voice faltered and he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and began again, "...how they are punishing her. And that was before my most recent failure to obey."   
Solo looked at him for a moment until understanding dawned. "The computer disk?" Kuryakin nodded, and Solo continued, "and not killing me."   
At this Kuryakin raised his eyes to meet those of the American. "I would not have killed you. I could not; not even for irina..... she would not want it."   
"I thought that this was all arranged with the Russian government," Gaby said. "Why would the KGB punish you for doing what the government wants?"   
"Do all parts of your governments talk to each other?" Kuryakin asked. "It is the same with mine. What the politicians want is not the same as what the KGB thinks it should be, so they go do their own thing while the politicians make plans and deals."   
He took back the photograph. "Here is what really worries me," he pointed to a sign over the woman's head and to the right. "Can you see what it says?"   
When both Gaby and Solo shook their heads, he said, "It says, 'Section 12'. That is the special section for political prisoners. Prisoners that require...," again a pause,"...special attention."   
Solo nodded and Gaby raised her hand to her mouth as the meaning of Kuryakin's words became clear to her. "The average life expectancy of a prisoners in Section 12 is a month. Irina has already been there for three weeks."   
"And what will you do when you return to Russia?" Solo asked.   
Kuryakin shrugged again and admitted, "I do not know. Beg maybe. Try to exchange my life for hers."   
"And how successful is that going to be?" Solo knew he was pushing, but the idea that his friend would throw away his life without a thought was abhorrent to him.   
Again the shrug. "I do not know, but I must do something. I cannot leave her there. I cannot let her...," Kuryakin could not finish his thought.   
"Of course not. We need to go get her." Solo tone was pragmatic and matter of fact. He was not in the mood for a debate or to brook any disagreements.   
"I cannot ask you to come with me...," Kuryakin countered.   
"You are not asking me. I am telling you that I am going with you. I am going to help you get your sister out of that hell hole. "   
"How?" Kuryakin asked.   
"I'm working on that," Solo admitted, but I think I know how to get us into the country."   
The men locked eyes again and after a few moments, Kuryakin nodded briefly acceptint the fact that he would not need to do this alone. "And I think I know how we are going to get out of the country," he said with a ghost of a smile.   
"And I am going to go and make sure that Waverly does not collapse of a heart attack when he learns that two thirds of his new and vaunted team have gone off to have their very own adventure," said Gaby with a fond look at both of the men.   
"Lets get going then,"Solo said. "There is a car waiting, it can take us to the Darby Army base as easily as to the Leonardo da Vinci Airport.


	3. Chapter 3

Solo had to admit that he much preferred flying first class. Sitting in the belly of the troop transport on the way to Fort Richardson in Anchorage, Alaska, Solo was playing around with a sarcastic comment in an effort to get a rise out of the silent man sitting next to him. However, a look at Kuryakin dissuaded him. The Russian's eyes were focused on the front of the plane as if he could make it move faster by his sheer will. In the last ten hours, Kuryakin may have uttered a handful of words. Solo had tried to engage him with questions about his sister, but was met with monosyllabic responses; after a while he gave up.

Getting the two of them to this point had been an adventure in and of itself; it had taken every bit of Solo's charm and persuasiveness. A two hour drive to the Darby Base and some quick talking on Solo's part got them on a plane to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany. When they landed, Solo called Gaby who informed him that he and Kuryakin would have five days to retrieve Irina and get back to Rome in order to leave for the Istanbul Mission. Waverly was less than pleased, but he really had no choice since by the time he had found out, Solo and Kuryakin were already in the air.

Once at Ramstein and thanks to some favors that Solo was able to call in, they were able to find some space on a transport that was leaving for Alaska.

The plan to rescue Irina, such as it was, was simple. Reconnaissance planes flew in and out of the air space over Siberia all the time. The Russians knew they were there and ignored them. All Kuryakin and Solo would have to do is parachute inot the area, blend in with the local populace, and make their way to the Gulag, and rescue Irina. It all seemed simple enough - as long as one did not think too hard about it. once they had recovered Kuryakin's sister, he would ensure they got out; although he was still vague on the details. Solo was trying very hard to not let that bother him. They were partners, right?

At Fort Richardson, Kuryakin and Solo did some "shopping" in the supply rooms and indicated that the bill was to go to Alexander Waverly. Weapons, binoculars, and, some clothing that would help them blend in with the inhabitants of the sparse villages of the vast and hostile Siberian expanse

Sitting in the briefing with the pilots of the "Super Guppy" cargo/reconnaissance air craft, Solo tried to sound confident. "You will fly over here...," he indicated an area slightly east of the prison camp was located, "open your bay doors and we will jump. Even if you slow down a little bit, the Russians won't notice. And their radar is not powerful enough to see parachutes, right?" That last was for Kuryakin who was looking intently at this American partner.

"Right?" Solo asked again.

"Oh yes, of course," Kuryakin replied absently.

The pilots exchanged looks, but said nothing. A mission was a mission.

Sitting in the belly of the giant transport, Solo again remembered how much he hated this part of his job. He sat on the bench, his back leaning against the vibrating bulwark. When he was in the Army, using a parachute was part of his training and he had had occasion, both during the war and after, to use those skills. But now, jumping in into the darkest night he had ever experienced targeting a landing spot that he had never even seen was causing him - the ever unflappable Napoleon Solo, to experience some jitters.

A large hand clapped him on the shoulders, "You OK, Cowboy?" Napoleon looked up to see Kuryakin.

"I have always had some...," Solo paused, and then continued dryly, "….reservations about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes." He looked at his partner, "You are actually enjoying this?"

The Russian actually had a smile on his face, although it did not quite reach his eyes. He had trained for this and so many other things. He just hoped that it was going to be enough.

Just then the Jump Master walked over to the two agents and nodded; it was time. He opened the jump doors and signaled the men with a thumbs up sign. Kuryakin adjusted his goggles and helmet, nodded once at Solo and jumped. Without another thought, Solo followed suit.

It was dark and they could not use any type of illumination to ensure that they would not be discovered. But Kuryakin knew exactly where he was going – there was a pinprick of light to the East; a small town of some type. That was the destination and he angled his parachute. Solo, straining to see his friend mirrored his movements.

They could not speak due to the wind, nor could they signal, but somehow, they both landed in the clearing. Quickly packing up their parachutes and stripping out of the jumpsuits revealing thick, knitted wool sweaters, work trousers and boots that had seen better days. Both of them pulled caps out of their pockets and shouldered their backpacks.

Kuryakin turned to Solo. "You are my cousin, Grigori. You are deaf. Understand?" Solo thought about arguing, but just nodded. "Let's go. There is somebody I need to see."

The village, called Northpoint (Severnaya Tochka), was barely a village at all. It was every bit drab and depressing as anything Solo would have imagined. There were no streets, just muddy tracks that ran between dilapidated buildings made of brick, wood, and in some cases, what looked like corrugated metal. The inhabitants bundled in threadbare coats with hats pulled low over their eyes walked briskly from place to place, careful to avoid making any eye contact.

Kuryakin, was looking around, his eyes focusing on every building while still avoiding eye contact. When his eyes finally landed on a ramshackle building made of corrugated metal, he permitted himself a slight satisfied smile. "There. We need to go there," he pointed. Seeing the question in Solo's face, "This is how I am going to get us out." Before going in, he said, "Stay here. Don't look at anybody and pretend you can't hear. Your Russian is good, but you are not native." And with that he entered the building through a swinging door, which, when opened, released fumes of stale alcohol which wafted to the outside and into Solo's face.

Kuryakin returned no more than twenty minutes later. To the question in Solo's eyes, he said, "It is set. We will meet him and he will take us out." Solo continued to look at Kuryakin because something in his voice just did not sound right. "Everything is set," the Russian said, as if to reassure himself. "Yes. Everything is set up. Everything will be fine." Then mumbling to himself, "I think."

With their extraction plans complete, or so they hoped, the two men set off for the prison camp which was several miles into the forest. Although Solo was expecting to see it, coming upon it still surprised him. They were standing on top of a hill looking down into a valley which was filled with what could only have been the Gulag. The fences were barbed wire strung between barely trimmed tree trunks. There were guards, carrying rifles, patrolling inside. Solo looked through his binoculars, but somehow the place did not look particularly secure.

Kuryakin must have read his thoughts. "Where would they go? They have no food, no warm clothes, and no transportation. The villagers will not help them – they would sooner turn them in for the reward." Solo began to understand just how devious and cruel these prisons were – so close to freedom and yet it was completely unattainable.

Kuryakin was pulling him now. "We need to find Section 12." The two of them skirted the around the camp with Solo following Kuryakin. "There," the Russian finally said pointing to the Eastern part of the prison.

Section 12 did look more intimidating. It was a stockade within the stockade. This one had a more secure fence and substantially more armed guards. Kuryakin focused his binoculars toward open area inside the second fence. Solo watched his friend's body suddenly tense and raised his own binoculars and trying to see what his partner was seeing. Then he saw her...at least he thought the bundle of rags he was seeing was female. Towering over her was a guard, and Solo realized with a dreadful certainty that actually made him physically ill, that the guard was raising his rifle butt to strike the small cowering figure and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.


	4. Chapter 4

Irina knew that she should care a great deal more about the gun that was hovering several feet above her head. She cringed away from the pain that she knew was coming, but a part of her knew that it was just one more hurt amongst the bruises, cuts and burns that she had collected over her time in Section 12. But whatever the pain from the injuries or the infections that had set in, or from the constant hunger and thirst that had been her constant companions during her "questioning", nothing was worse than the pain pf knowing that her brother, her Illya was dead.

The Captain took particular sadistic pleasure in telling her that he died on his latest mission and that he would be buried in Germany. She would not even have the opportunity to say her good byes. She had not wept then – she would not give the man the satisfaction, but later when she was in the cold, dark dormitory, she pulled the pillow over her head so nobody could hear her agonized sobs, and wept until she had run out of tears. Even now, the thought that he was gone brought tears to her eyes; tears that she blinked back.

A part of her still hoped that they were lying to her; after all they were the KGB and not known for truthfulness. She had always thought that she would know in her heart if something happened to Illya, but now her head was telling her that he must be dead; he would not have let her rot in this hellish place if it had been in his power to help her. Irina thought that she was prepared for the blow that was coming, but just as the butt of the weapon was about to make contact with her skull, she heard the crack of a command. "Stop!"

The weapon froze in midair as Irina risked a glance in the direction of the voice. If it had been possible, her heart would have sunk even deeper when she saw Captain Grishkov approaching. Grishkov was responsible for questioning the prisoners and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the sadistic bastard enjoyed every moment, every scream, and every drop of blood that he was able to wring out of his victims. The look on his face made her wish that the soldier's gun had made contact with her temple.

Solo and Kuryakin observed the drama from their hiding place. Although they could not hear what was said, the gist of the situation was painfully clear. Solo felt his partner tense next to him and looked over in concern.

"They are taking her to be "questioned" again," Kuryakin ground out between clenched teeth. "This time they will kill her."

Solo did not understand how Kuryakin could be so certain, but the look in his partner's did not invite argument or debate. He looked like he was ready to run down to the camp and take on all the soldiers alone. Solo put a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder and was mildly surprised when the man did not shake it off. "We'll get her, I swear," he said and meant it, "but it will not serve anybody, especially Irina, if you get yourself caught or killed." The men's eyes met; desperation and fear met confidence and hope. After a few moments and what seemed like an almost superhuman act of willpower, Kuryakin, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and regained control of himself.

"You are right, Cowboy," he said. "We need a plan."

Solo slowly blew his breath out. "OK. Sun is already setting. Once the shadows get longer, we go."

Kuryakin nodded, understanding. "We can…," he paused for a moment, "…disable the guards."

"Can we get to where they are holding her," Solo asked.

"It would be difficult. That is where the guards are. Even if we can get it, getting out with Irina would be difficult." The truth was plain to Kuryakin. "We will wait for them to bring her back. It will be easier to extract her from the dormitory."

Solo nodded, looking at the setting sun.

A few more minutes and the shadows started to lengthen. Keeping low to the ground and positioning their bodies to blend as much as possible with the hillside. The wind had kicked up and helped camouflage the sounds of their descent. Once at the gate, the men split up to better manage the patrols. Solo approached a young soldier from behind. A strategically aimed blow to the back of the neck ensured unconsciousness without killing him. Solo quickly pulled him into the bushes, stripped him of his uniform and weapon and pulled the jacket and pants over his own clothes. Thus outfitted and with the Kalashnikov in hand, he set of to look for his partner. Kuryakin soon joined him. Surprisingly he was winded and there were several small, but suspicious stains on the uniform. Solo looked at him questioningly and the bland, blank look from those cold blue eyes was all the response that Solo received and it made his blood run cold. "All well," Solo asked.

"Yes," the Russia replied. "He will never beat anybody else again."

Suppressing a slight shudder, Solo followed Kuryakin to the gate. The lock was old and rusted and Kuryakin broke it with minimal effort. Once inside, the two walked in formation toward Section 12. Getting into that compound would be more difficult. A hail from the guard on duty and a hearty reply from Kuryakin was all it took for the gate to open. The men walked toward the building where they last saw Irina. A glance into the window verified that it was, indeed, a dormitory, and that it was empty. "They still have her," Kuryakin grated. "When I think what they are doing….."

"Don't," the hissed word from Solo cut like a knife. "Don't do that to yourself Peril. Don't think about it. You're here and we'll get her out." As if on cue, the two men saw two other soldiers dragging a small inert form between them. Quickly the two men, ran around the building to remain inconspicuous. They heard the door of the dormitory open and heavy boots go inside. A quick pause and then the boots exiting. Waiting a few more minutes for safety, Solo and Kuryakin, ducked inside dormitory. Kuryakin went first, gun ready while Solo covered him outside. After a count of thirty when he heard nothing, Solo backed into the building, shutting the door as he retreated.

What Solo saw stopped him in his tracks. Thee large Russian was kneeling next to a low pallet – one could barely call it a bed. I his arms he had what looked like a limp bundle of rags topped with an extremely pale face. Kuryakin was stoking Irina's face tenderly while brokenly whispering what sounded like a mantra, "Prosti Menya, Irinachka. Prosti Menya, Dorogya Sestrichka. (Forgive me, dear Irina. Forgive me Dear Little Sister)." With a sinking heart, Solo noticed that Irina was not moving and even her chest appeared to be completely still.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, God, Peril," Solo breathed, placing a hand on the big man's shoulder. Solo felt the muscles bunch up and tense, but Kuryakin continued speaking to his sister.

An endless moment passed and both men heard a weak moan. Solo released a breath he had not realized that he had been holding and he felt his partner relax. He looked at the pale face and saw the eyes flutter open revealing eyes of the most intense shade of blue that Solo had ever seen.

"Illya?" Irina whispered weakly. She struggled to bring up her hand, to touch his face as if trying to ascertain that her brother was truly there with her. "Illya?" she whispered again, the disbelief and desperation mixing in her voice.

"I am here, Dorogya (Dear)," Kuryakin said, his voice barely above a whisper too.

Irina brushed Kuryakin's cheek and then, as if that took all her strength, her eyes closed and her arm fell back to her side; she was unconscious again.

Kuryakin looked at his sister for another moment, his eyes a mixture of agony and relief. With a deep breath, that shook only slightly, he took her in his arms and rose. He looked at his partner. "Let's go," he said. "Arkady will be waiting."

Solo nodded and only then thought to ask. "Arkady? Who's Arkady?"

"Our way out." Was the short reply.

It was now completely dark. Solo stepped out first, his weapon at the ready. When he scanned the area and found it safe, he motioned for Kuryakin to come through. Solo followed, watching his partner's back.

Not that Solo was not grateful, but getting out of the camp was as easy as getting in. By avoiding the floodlights and staying the shadows, the men made it to the gate which was still unlocked. When the guard was not looking the two slipped out. A run up the hill – a bit more of a challenge for Kuryakin with Irina in his arms – and they were in the shadows of the old growth forest.

"OK," Solo was slightly out of breath, "Now where?"

With his hands busy, Kuryakin nodded his head in the direction. "That way. East. There is an airstrip there. Arkady will be waiting."

"Um...how far?," Solo asked.

"Only five kilometers," Kuryakin said. Seeing the look on Solo's face, the Russian actually broke into a smile. "What's the matter, Cowboy? Its just a little nature walk."

Solo was about to reply, but he was so glad to see his friend smile, he just shook his head, checked his gun and followed. It felt like they had been walking for hours...Kuryakin, with Irina in his arms, strode silently ahead his eyes flitting ahead and side to side for any dangers. Solo scanned behind them.

They smelled and heard the plane before they saw it. The idling engine growled and spewed fumes. Solo studied the aircraft, but it had been cobbled together from so many spare parts that whatever had been its origin was now completely obscured. Solo eyed it dubiously. "Are you sure it'll fly?"

"It will get us where we need to go," Kuryakin replied. "Arkady is an excellent pilot."

Solo tried to help Kuryakin get into the plane, but the Russian just shook his head as he climbed in. Five minutes later and against any odds that Solo would have placed, the creaking, growling, stinking pile of spare parts was airborne

Within ten minutes they were crossing into US air space and the radio was crackling with calls for identification. Kuryakin looked at Solo, "OK, Cowboy. Now make sure we are not shot down."

Solo went to the radio. "Fort Richardson, Air Control. This is Napoleon Solo," he said trying to sound calm. "Agent Kuryakin and I have been on a rescue mission. We have an injured person with us. We require medical attention. The plane will land just long enough for us to get off and he will leave. Control Tower, please acknowledge." He repeated this several times until the response crackled on the radio.

"This is Fort Richardson Air Control. Acknowledge. You have five minutes to land, disembark and to have the aircraft take off again."

"Acknowledged," Solo confirmed with a sigh of relief.

The plane made the equivalent of a rolling stop. Kuryakin and Solo jumped off and were met with several Air Force Officers. However, the moment they saw Irina in her brother's arms, they immediately escorted them to the hospital. Kuryakin gently laid Irina on the examination table. The doctor, a young Lieutenant pulled back the clothes and his eyes grew wide. "I have never seen injuries like this. What happened to her?"

"Section 12," Kuryakin responded curtly. The young man's eyes got wider, and then clouded with concern as he started to examine his patient and listing the litany of injuries. "She has been severely and continuously beaten, she been stabbed and cut with some type of sharp implement, and...Oh My God," the doctor stopped for a minute to take a breath, "...these burns...electric shock." Kuryakin just nodded, his eyes bleak, but Solo's head whipped up, the memories of his experiences with Uncle Rudi still fresh. The doctor continued his examination, "Her ribs are bruised or cracked. Since you brought her here and she is not choking on her own blood, I don't think any ribs are broken. She is severely dehydrated and malnourished. I will admit her now."

"No," Kuryakin said. "She is not safe here. We need to go. What can you do to help her while we travel?" When he saw the doctor's dubious look, "I swear, she will have the best care once she is safe. Please," Kuryakin stopped to take a deep breath, "Please do what you can." The doctor nodded and set to work.

In the meantime, Solo was arranging for transport back to Ramstein Air Force Base. Within the hour, Solo, Kuryakin and Irina boarded the transport. Instead of her filthy rags, she had on a surgeon's scrubs – it was the best they could do for her under the circumstances. Kuryakin wrapped her in a blanket as he carried her on board. The doctor had done what he could in the time she was there, but it was clear that she would need a great deal more medical attention.

Since it was a very long flight, Solo napped, but every time he opened his eyes to check on his partner, he saw Kuryakin awake. He had made a makeshift bed for Irina across several seats. He now sat on the floor next to her, holding her hand. Occasionally he would adjust her blanket or pillow, stroke her hair or face or just whisper something. It was as if he was trying to pour his own strength into her frail, abused body. Solo wished that there was something that he could do, but it seemed that Kuryakin just wanted to be left alone.

The jump from Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany to Rome was much quicker. Solo had called Gaby when they had landed and a car was waiting for them when they stepped on the tarmac at Darby.

Two and a half hours later, they were entering their safe house in Rome. Gaby had been waiting and she opened the door. She scanned the faces of both men and saw weariness in both, but Kuryakin was almost gray with exhaustion. Her eyes flew to the young woman in his arms. "Oh, God," she breathed when she saw the extent of the injuries. "I've not called a doctor because I did not know when you'd get here," she said, regaining some composure. "Let's get her to bed."

Kuryakin made a move toward one of the bedrooms in the suite of rooms, but stopped and tried to keep himself from swaying as fatigue overtook him. Solo put out an arm to steady his friend. "Let's get her and you to bed." You've not slept in over three days and are dead on your feet."

Kuryakin tried to protest, but he truly had nothing left. He made Solo ad Gaby promise to wake him when the doctor came. He was asleep before his head fully hit the pillow.

Gaby looked at the young woman lying in the bed. "Out," she ordered Solo. The man looked at her quizzically. "I am going to give her a bath. She should have some dignity when the doctor comes."

"Bath? How?" Solo asked, confused.

A look of profound sadness crossed Gaby's face. "I know how. I used to do it for my mother." The look was gone and she started bustling about, first shooing Solo out of the room.

The man headed straight for the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. It had been a hell of a couple of days. He sat back and closed his eyes; resting, but not quite asleep in case Gaby needed him. Forty-five minutes later she did need him. She had come out of the bedroom, the front of her blouse spattered with water and asked if he would come in and help. "I need you to lift her out of the bed while I put on dry sheets," she said.

Solo acquiesced. He walked over to the bed and gaped. Lying in the bed was a different person. Her features were still distorted by abrasions, bruised and God knew what else, but he also saw her face for the first time. Gaby had washed and brushed her hair as well and it now pooled around her head like a golden halo. Solo reached down and picked up the young woman, noting that Gaby had also dressed her in a pretty set of pajamas. He had braced himself for lifting some type of weight, but was surprised and horrified at how little she weighed. Solo felt the stirrings of the same cold, hard fury he had seen in his friend's face when he had picked up his sister. Good God, didn't the world just fight a war to make sure that people were not treated like this?

He looked at Irina, truly seeing her for perhaps the first time. She had been through hell that was certain. Nobody should suffer the way she had suffered. And yet, she had survived; through sheer force of her will, it appeared. Solo knew nothing about her, but he already admired her strength. What kind of woman was she, he wondered, not for the first time. He very much wanted to find out. A soft moan brought him out of his reverie. He shifted his hold slightly in an unconscious effort to make her more comfortable; now her head rested against his chest.

Solo knew himself well. He was a rake and a bounder. He took women for his own pleasure; loving them all and caring for none. But, contrary to what people thought, his instinct to protect those who were weak and in need were stronger than any other drive. Solo looked down again at the vulnerable and seemingly fragile woman in his arms. He bent down and in a gentle voice whispered to Irina, "Shh, rest easy Little One. Your brother is here and he won't let anybody hurt you ever again...," a pause, a deep breath, "…and neither will I." Looking at her, Solo felt an almost physical shift as if a missing piece of a puzzle suddenly and completely slipped into place – as if something that had been missing was now present. Irina shifted slightly again murmuring into his chest. Although he did not understand it, Solo knew in a way that defied explanation that something very important just happened and that somehow, in some way he did not understand, his life had just profoundly changed.


	6. Chapter 6

Gabby walked back into the room to see Solo whispering something to the young woman in his arms. She had never seen such a look on his face – it was a mixture of awe, surprise, and...she struggled to put a name to what she was seeing...tenderness, that she had never seen on the man's handsome face. Smiling slightly to herself, Gabby cleared her throat.

At the quiet little sound, Solo looked up and blinked as if just waking up. Gabby pretended she had seen nothing in an effort to spare her friend any potential embarrassment. "The bed is ready," she said quietly and the doctor should be here soon to examine Irina." Having regained his composure, Solo nodded and followed Gabby back into the bedroom where he gently placed Irina back on the bed. Gabby pulled the cover up and tucked it around the other woman. Solo could not resist the urge to touch the gold hair as he brushed a strand of stray hair away from her face and stepped out to resume his seat on the couch and finish his drink. His arms felt strangely empty.

The doctor arrived fifteen minutes later accompanied by two nurses. He was clearly British and probably about ten years older than Solo and Kuriyakin. He was tall and wore gold rimmed glasses; he exuded competence as well as a readiness for action that was unusual in people in the medical profession. He introduced himself as Dr. Philips.

Gabby went to wake Kuriyakin and Solo went to make a pot of very strong coffee. Once his partner was awake, he place a mug of the black, steaming liquid in his hand and left him with his sister and the doctor. He was very curious, but respected his partner enough to give them privacy; Peril will share with him whatever he felt he needed to know.  
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Solo was on his second drink and Gabby was trying to look interested in a fashion magazine when the door opened and Kuriyakin and the doctor stepped out. Two sets of eyes, one blue and one brown looked up expectantly. Kuriyakin's face was still pale and exhausted. There were still lines of tension around his eyes and mouth as he spoke quietly to the doctor. The doctor nodded and began to speak,"Miss Kuriyakin is suffering from exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition. While serious, I believe that, in time, she will make a full recovery. She will receive fluids and nutrition via an IV until she is strong and healthy enough to eat and drink on her own." The older man looked around the room. "Her other injuries are more serious; she has been consistently and systematically abused." Solo noticed his partner's eyes harden. "She has several bruised ribs, and too many cuts and bruises to count. While some of the cuts are serious and infected, with proper care," the doctor looked at his two nurses who were busy moving equipment into the bedroom, "she will be alright."

Solo did not realize that he had been holding his breath, until it came out with an audible, "woosh."

"I understand from Mr. Waverly," the doctor continued, "that you have a mission in Istanbul." He smiled slightly at the surprise in Solo's and Kuriyakin's eyes. "Miss Teller made sure to call for a qualified and well vetted physician, so Mr. Waverly sent me."

Absorbing this, Kuriyakin nodded, but he was not yet convinced. "She will not be safe here, by herself," he objected.

The doctor smiled again and adjusted his suit coat to reveal a shoulder holster in which rested a Walther PPK semi-automatic revolver. Dr. Philips looked toward the nurses who stopped what they were doing, pushed back their white lab coats to show that they too that were well armed. "Miss Kuriyakin will be just fine," Doctor Philips assured the three agents. "We are more than well equipped to care for her and we can certainly take care of any...," he paused looking for the correct word, "...unpleasantness." The doctor checked his watch. "I believe that Mr. Waverly has sent a car to take you three to the airport; it should be waiting downstairs even now.

The three agents should have been shocked, but they were not – this was just like Waverly. They went to fetch their suitcases. Although the car was waiting downstairs and Solo and Gabby were waiting in the Sitting Room, Kuriyakin made a point to stop in Irina's room. Solo watched his partner surreptitiously over a magazine he was pretending to read. The tall blond man walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. First he stroked the golden hair, then he took one of the hands and gently placed a kiss on it. He then bent over and whispered something into his sister's ear. Then planting one last gentle kiss on her forehead, he rose and walked out of the room. It struck Solo as completely incongruous that a man trained to be a ruthless killing machine still had the capacity for such gentleness when he thought nobody was looking. Perhaps the Russian brainwashing was not as thorough or complete as they had believed it to be – this thought somehow gave Solo hope for the future.  
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Irina was not certain whether she was alive or dead, but some rational part of her mind was leaning toward thinking that she was alive. After all, she hurt too much to be dead. A part of her wondered where she was since she was certain that she was no longer at the Gulag. She wondered how much of what she knew or remembered or thoughts she kew or remembered was real and how much was a dream or wishful thinking?

Had she dreamed of opening her eyes and seeing her beloved older brother? Had she dreamed that she actually reached out to touch his face? She recalled a gentle kiss on the forehead and a whispered promise – were those memories dreams too? .

Irina continued to drift. She sometimes dreamed and sometimes she seemed to be awake. She thought that sometimes she would open her eyes and see an older man in gold-rimmed glasses. Other times, she would see a blond woman and at others it was a brunette. They all smiled at her and quietly told her to get some rest, promising that everything was going to be alright. Her pain was decreasing, but she was more sleepy – perhaps they were giving her something for the pain. Shortly after they would appear in her field of vision, she would drift back into her dreams.

Over time – Irina did not know how long, it seemed that her time awake grew longer. She was able to listen to conversations and was able to ascertain that the man was a doctor and the women were nurses. Their job was to care for her and to keep her safe until "they" returned. She was not certain who "they" were, but for some reason she knew her brother was among them. With the comfort of this knowledge, Irina was able to sleep more peacefully than she had in the past.  
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The team returned within three days. Kuriyakin's first thoughts were of Irina. "How is she?" He asked the doctor as soon as he had crossed the threshold.

Dr. Philips was prepared for this. "She is making excellent progress," he said. "We have reduced her medication and she is beginning to wake up."

At those words, Kuriyakin immediately dropped his suitcase and with long strides headed directly to Irina's bedroom. His breath caught when he saw her. She was still pale and painfully thin, but the livid bruises had begun to heal and fade and her face was no longer an ashen grey. Carefully, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed and took both of her hands in his.

"Dorogaya. Prosnees. Otkroi glaza. Pozhaluysta (Dear. Wake up. Please open your eyes.)" After waiting a few minutes, he repeated his plea again and then froze in mid word as he felt small fingers curl against his hand. Irina was responding to him!

"Irinachka. Dorogaya," Kuryiakin continued to call out. "I am here. I am with you. Please wake up."

This time he heard a very quiet little moan as he saw dark eyelashes flutter open and blue eyes, the same shade as his focus on him.

"Ilya?" Irina found that she did not have the strength to speak above a whisper. "I am not dreaming? Please tell me I am not dreaming and you are really here."

Kuriyakin smiled and said gently, "I am here. You are not dreaming. You are safe." Freeing her hands from his light grasp, Irina reached for him and ge pulled into a gentle embrace, as she clung to him and cried.

"They told me you were dead. That you had died on a mission. There was no body. I could not even see..."

"Shh," Kuriyakin tried to calm the distraught girl. "It is alright. Everything is alright now." For a moment, he stopped rocking and slightly pushed her away so that he could look into her eyes, his face a mask of pain and guilt for the suffering that he had caused her. "Irinachka, Prosti mena (Forgive me). It is all my fault. All my fault." He pulled her close again and buried his face in her hair even as he continued to beg for her forgiveness. Irina held on to her brother, whispering endearments and, what she hoped, were words of comfort, to ease her brother's obvious pain.

"I have to tell him," she thought desperately. "God help me, but he needs to know." She knew very well the danger of keeping the secret, but the consequences of Ilya learning the truth terrified her. She started to shiver and clung even harder to her brother who continued to hold her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.


	7. Chapter 7

Irina had just taken a deep breath and steeled herself for the revelations she was about to make, when she was interrupted by a light knock on the half-open door. She felt Illya tense slightly and then relax when he saw Gaby and Solo waiting by the door. He released Irina and with a gentle smile said. "Dorogaya. I want you to meet...," he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, "...my friends." Irina looked up into her brother's eyes. She had never heard her brother refer to anybody in those terms. They were always, colleagues or acquaintances, but never "Druzya"; never "friends".

Gaby was first into the room. Irina followed Illya's eyes as he watched the pretty, petite brunette walk across the room. She watched the flickering emotions in his eyes from adoration to something wistful to something warmer like desire. Not knowing anything about this woman, Irina decided that she liked her very much; her brother obviously cared for her and she clearly brought him happiness. As far as Irina was concerned, nobody deserved happiness more than Illya.

Gaby smiled at Irina and walked over to take her hand. "Hello," she said gently. "I am so glad you are here and that you are feeling better."

"Thank you. For everything," Irina said with a quick sidelong look at her brother. This was not lost on Gaby and she blushed slightly.

Irina's thoughts were interrupted. "And this is Napoleon Solo."

Irina was pulled from her contemplation and looked up... into the most handsome face that she had ever seen. The rugged, chiseled features became even more handsome when the man smiled. He was tall and well built, although not as massive as her brother. The blueness of his eyes was only emphasized by the jet black hair.

"Of course, you can call me, 'Cowboy'," the man said with evident good humor and a wry sidelong look at her brother. Irina's head jerked up looking back at the man. 'Napoleon?'. She'd never met a man named Napoleon? He did not look like a Napoleon, she thought. But that voice. She knew that voice; she had heard that voice before. Although she could not place it, she remembered that voice promising that she would be safe and the nobody would hurt her. She felt a hot flush creep up her face and had to look away from those intense eyes.

Solo could not help it. He did not mean to stare at Irina, but she was truly lovely. Even now, still pale and bruised, he saw the potential of her beauty. What was more, her face was alight with such happiness that he felt a momentary jolt of jealousy when he realized that he wanted her to look at him in that way.

"Napoleon," Kuryakin began, but stopped himself, "Cowboy. Cowboy went with me." Illya seemed to have trouble speaking for a moment. "He helped get you out."

"Actually," Solo countered, his hand resting briefly on on his partner's shoulder, "I went along for the ride. Peril here did all the work."

Irina was not sure what to think or what to say. "Thank you," she said simply.

Solo caught Irina's eye and it seemed to him that her eyes went right through to where his heart was supposed to be. When she spoke, he was surprised that her voice was huskier than he thought it would be and her accent was much less pronounced than her brother's. She fascinated him; he really needed to get to know this young woman much better.

Kuryakin was carefully watching his sister as she took in everything happening around her. His joy and relief at having her with him was tempered by his continued concern so he was particularly attuned to even the smallest changes in her. He noticed that her eyes were starting to close and her head beginning to nod.

"I think you need to rest, Irinachka," he said and Gaby and Solo immediately picked up on the hint and turned to leave.

"Feel better soon," Gaby said, giving the girl a quick hug.

Solo continued to look at her for a few more moments, until Illya cleared his throat and woke him from his reverie. Without thinking about it, Solo reached down and took Irina's hand, placing a quick kiss on her fingers. "I will see you soon, Miss Kuryakin," he said his blue eyes sparkling over her hand.

Kuryakin suppressed a growl. Instead he helped Irina lie down, adjusted her covers, and kissed her forehead. "Rest, dear. And get better. I will be just outside if you need me."

"Illya," Irina started, "I need to tell you something." She yawned.

"Later," her brother said gently. "Nothing is so important except that you are here." Another kiss and despite her best efforts, Irina's eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

Another day would not hurt she told her self. It could not hurt. She would tell Illya tomorrow. She promised herself that she would not keep this secret any longer than she needed.

Dinner was a quiet, but festive affair. They had ordered room service complete with a bottle of wine to celebrate Irina's obvious improvement. Solo had just topped off their glasses and they were sharing a toast, when the intimate quiet was interrupted by a scream of somebody in pain.

Kuryakin dropped his glass and was out of his chair and running toward Irina's room before he had fully registered what happened. Solo was on his heels with Gaby close behind. Out of sheer instinct, both men had drawn their guns. They burst into the bedroom expecting a fight, but saw only Irina. She was sitting up in bed, crying. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to still be asleep and to be in the grip of a horrible nightmare. "No," she wept. "Please, no. No more. Please. Please. Don't hurt them." Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was shaking.

"Irina," Kuryakin whispered. He quickly holstered his weapon and went to his sister. He took her in his arms and began to rock, attempting to calm her with both the motion and his quiet whisper, "Irina. You are safe. There is nobody here to hurt you." For a few moments, she actually fought against him as if he was the cause of her pain and fear, but he continued to speak soothingly and rock her.

Eventually, her eyes opened and focused on her brother's devastated face. "Please," she whispered hoarsely. "Please help them. They are hurt. Please make them stop."

"I promise," Kuryakin whispered. "I will help them. They will not be hurt anymore." He felt his sister start to relax and soon her eyes closed. Her regular breathing indicated that she was asleep again. Kuryakin gently laid her back down, smoothed back her hair and left the room.

Outside the bedroom, Kuryakin exchanged a confused, concerned look with Solo, but his partner's eyes contained more questions than answers as they looked at the now peacefully sleeping woman and both wondered what horrors she may have experienced and was now living out in her dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

Kuryakin tried to gently question Irina the next morning. She felt well enough to joing the team for breakfast. As she sat, nibbling a piece of toast, Kuryakin poured himself another cup of tea and asked her, if she remembered having a bad dream?

Irina, shook her head. "I am sorry, Illya. I don't remember."

Solo was surreptitiously studying Irina's face. Although something just did not feel right, he did not see anything that aroused suspicion. Kuryakin took a deep breath and continued, "Last night, you asked me to help somebody. You said that 'they'," Kuryaking used fingers to call out the word, "...that they needed help. That 'they' were being hurt." Kuryakin laid his large hand over Irina's, "Irinachka, who was being hurt? Who needed help?"

The tea cup slipped from Irina's hands and shattered on the floor a all color drained from her face. She shook her head as if to clear it or to deny what she was hearing. "No," she whispered. "No. I have no idea what you are talking about. I don't know anybody who needs help." Shakily, Irina, pushed herself up from the table. "I am sorry. I really don't feel well. I think I better lie down." She stumbled out of the room, grabbing pieces of furniture and the wall for support. A moment later they heard the door slam. Gaby was sitting with a hand to her mouth while the two men exchanged looks of utter confusion. "I will go to her," Kuryakin said his eyes full of concern, but as he was passing by, Solo grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him.

"Give her time, Peril," Solo said. "She's not ready to talk."

"When will she be ready?," Kuryakin growled his worry and frustration warring for control.

Solo shrugged philosophically, "Don't know. Maybe never. Peril, you need to give her time. She's been through hell. What she is dealing with...we can't even imagine. I saw something like this after the war with soldiers who saw...," Solo trailed off not willing to relive that memory. "Just be patient. She will tell you when the time is right."

So the team waited and the nightmares continued almost nightly, but each morning, Irina swore she had no memory of the terrifying nightmares. Somehow, despite her disrupted nights, Irina grew stronger and the doctor permitted her to spend more time out of bed. Once she had read everything the hotel had to offer, Kuryakin brought her books and would spend hours playing chess with her. Gaby would bring fashion magazines and the two would spend hours looking at the photographs and laughing at the stylized models. Solo, not to be outdone, brought Irina an art book and the two spent hours discussing Renaissance Italian Art.

Several days later, Solo had an even bigger surprise for Irina. Irina was sitting on the couch wrapped in a robe when Solo came in with several bags and boxes bearing the names of famous boutiques. "I think you have been sitting here long enough," Solo said with a smile that lit up his eyes. "You need to go shopping and I am just the man to take you." He laid the packages down around Irina's feet. "I took the liberty of getting you a few things...the rest...you will get to chose."

Irina looked at him. She was speechless. Nobody, not even Illya had ever done anything like that for her. With Gaby's help, she took the packages into her bedroom.

Solo had enjoyed purchasing the clothing and he enjoyed the look of pure joy on Irina's face when he gave her the gifts. But when she stepped out, he could barely believe the change in her. He could not help but stare. The blue silk Dior dress that he had chosen dress enhanced her figure by showcasing her small waist and her shapely breasts. Her hair was simply styled and cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a minimum of makeup, perfectly applied to enhance her eyes, lips and cheekbones.

Solo found himself staring at her lips and wondering... He tore himself away and, recovering his equilibrium, went to Irina. He kissed her hand, "You look lovely, Irina," he said. "It would be my genuine pleasure to escort you today."

Kuryakin looked up for a chess puzzle he was trying to solve. His first instinct was to growl a warning to Solo, but his heart leapt when he saw his sister looking so much healthier and happier than she had before. He then gave Solo a particulary dirty, threatening look which his partner blithely ignored. Irina walked over to her brother, kissed him, picked up the matching jacket and allowed Solo to take her arm and lead her out the door.

Kuryakin had wanted to be angry about his sister going shopping with Solo, but as soon as the door closed, Gaby came to him carrying both her jacket and his. He looked quizzically at the petite brunette who smiled broadly. "I think it is time that you took me to lunch," she said brazenly and Kuryakin was more than happy to comply.

Irina and Solo strolled the streets of Rome. He had her arm firmly in his. True to his promise, it had been Solo's intent to make a visit to all the boutiques, but Irina kept pulling him into book stores and art galleries. Solo was fascinated and entranced; most women would head straight for the clothing and jewelry, but not Irina. "I'm Russian," she said simply. "For us, art and books are more important that eating."

At that cue, Solo managed to persuade Irina to sit and rest in a café and they had a lovely luncheon of pasta and white wine. Not only could Solo not take his eyes of her, but he was drawn to her completely natural blend of Russian fatalism and a joyous optimism and love for life.

"Alright," he said when the last drop of wine was gone. "We are now going to shopping. It is my intent to ensure that you have the best wardrobe in all of Rome." When she opened her mouth to protest, he playfully wagged a finger, "No. You will not dissuade me or entice me into another gallery. We are now off to Via Condotti; you have an appointment with Haute Couture."

Irina had never seen so many beautiful clothes in all of her life. She realized that the store clerks must think her to be Solo's mistress, but she did not care and lost herself in the swirl of silk, velvet and cashmere.

Solo sat back with a glass of champagne and watched the young woman try on a myriad of outfits. Again, he realized just how unique she was; she loved the clothes, but her choices mirrored her aesthetic. Irina unfailingly selected clean lines and classic cuts; primarily Dior and Chanel, but also some Valentino designs. He did insist on one Pucci that brought out her eyes and made her hair even more golden.

Solo knew that there were other items she would need; a discreet word to the manager sent the woman and her assistant scurrying to the back. In fifteen minutes, the women were back with a large, beribboned box that contained everything a woman would need.

Several happy hours later, Solo paid for all the purchases, provided the name of the hotel where everything would be delivered and the two left the store. Solo took Irina's arm, tucked it into his and covered her hand with his. Irina looked up at him, but did not comment or remove her hand and they strolled down the street toward the hotel as would any couple.

As they walked, they chatted about inconsequential things with Solo telling funny stories to make Irina laugh. Suddenly, something impacted on the wall right by Irina's face causing shards and splinters to explode outward. Some hit Irina in the face and she yelped as she turned her face away from the painful shrapnel. She realized that she was being pulled along and that Solo was already trying to get her into a nearby alley. Solo pushed her against a wall and shielded her body with his own, as several more bullets hit and ricocheted around them.

What do you think? Who is shooting and why? Who is the intended target? More action in the next chapter and I promise we are getting close to revealing secrets. I love and appreciate your reviews. Thank you for taking the time to read.


	9. Chapter 9

Irina gasped as Solo's body pressed against hers in an attempt to protect her as another barrage of bullets crashed in around them. She looked around wildly trying to determine where the bullets were coming from, but between the echoes and the ricochets in the tight quarters of the alleyway, there was no way to tell. She saw that Solo had his Browning out and ready; she had not realized that he even had brought his weapon, although she really should have known that he would not have left the hotel without it.

Suddenly she heard Solo grunt and felt his body shudder. Concerned, she looked up into Solo's face, but saw only his eyes hard and cold as ice as he scanned the roofs and windows around them looking for the shooter. Frustrated at not being able to find anything, Solo reached for Irina's hand and pulled her behind him. "Come on," he said, his voice clipped with tension, "We'll be safe when we get to the hotel." Irina heard a few more bullets hit the walls behind them, but it seemed that the shooter was not following them.

Solo lead Irina through the tangle of side streets and alley ways. Although she was completely confused, he seemed to know exactly where he was going and Irina was completely stunned when they took a final turn and ended up in front of their hotel.

Quickly and without making eye contact with anybody, Solo pulled Irina through the grand foyer and into the elevator. The black scowl on his face discouraged and two proper older ladies from getting in the elevator with them. As the doors closed, Solo released Irina's hand. Reflexively, she looked down and gasped to see it covered in blood – she had felt something warm and wet when they were running, but assumed that it was just sweat. She looked over at Solo and gasped; his left hand, the one that had been holding hers, was covered in blood which was slowly dripping on the dark carpet of the elevator. She looked up and her heart actually skipped a beat. There was something very wrong, Solo was leaning against the elevator wall, his face pale his lips compressed as if in pain. Irina cursed herself for a fool for not realizing it sooner. She took a deep breath and hoped that her voice would not shake too much. "Where?," she demanded.

Solo opened his eyes and made a slight jerk to his left. Irina followed his eyes and saw the small hole in the shoulder of his jacket. The bullet hole was surrounded by a glistening, wet circle that darkened the already dark fabric. Irina took a deep breath. "Let's get you inside," she said in a no-nonsense tone that made Solo open his eyes again and regard her with some surprise. She walked over to him, put her arm around his waist and her shoulder under his right arm. "Lean on me," she whispered as the elevator doors opened on his floor. Almost against his will, Solo leaned on the young woman and was surprise that she was able to bear the weight; she appeared to be much stronger than her slight form indicated. Together the two of them made their way down the hall. Solo gave Irina the keys and she opened the door.

She helped him to a chair and he straddled it sitting with his body toward the chair back. "Take your jacket and shirt off," Irina ordered in the same tone – a tone that indicated that she expected him to comply. While Solo was thus engaged, Irina went to the bar and poured him a very generous Scotch omitting the ice altogether. "Where is your kit," she asked, handing the drink to Solo.

"The First Aid Kit…," Solo began, but Irina cut him off.

"The real kit." The tone of her voice was so matter of fact, that it did not occur to Solo to vacillate, although he did wonder how she knew about the item that was, generally considered to be a profesional secret among spies. His head swam with a combination of pain and alcohol and he could not chase down the thought that had formed at the edges of his conscious thoughts; instead he assumed she knew about them from Kuryakin.

"Dresser," he said. "Second drawer from the top…under the pajamas." Irina nodded and went off.

By the time she returned, just a few minutes later, Solo had finished his drink and had removed his shirt, leaving only his tee shirt on. He noted, in surprise, that Irina's reaction to his wound was one of calm, almost professional concern. She refilled his drink, washed her hands, and proceeded to lay out the instruments from his kit. There were scalpels, probes, paid medications, antibiotics, surgical thread, and bandages – everything that would be needed, if professional medical attention was unavailable. Through his haze, he again wondered at the assurance that the young woman was exhibiting dealing with, what would seem to anybody else, an unusual situation.

Irina took a deep breath. "There is no exit wound, and while you are bleeding quite a lot, it is not as much as it could be. The bullet is lodged in your muscles, but has not severed any major arteries." She did not say that if it had severed an artery, Solo would most likely be dead by now.

With gentle fingers, Irina began to probe around the wound. Solo gritted his teeth and looked away. Irina uttered a sound of satisfaction as she felt the bullet. She reached for the probe. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "This will hurt." Solo nodded curtly once and looked away.

As gently as she could, Irina reached in with the probe in an effort to retrieve the bullet. As she focused on what she was doing, Solo heard her mutter under her breath. His Russian was usually good, but under the circumstances, he was fortunate to catch occasionally words. What he caught sounded like a mantra, "My fault. It is my fault…How did they find me?...Why?...Why do they want to hurt me? This is all my fault." At some point, she moved to sharply and a groan escaped Solo's firmly compressed lips. "I am sorry," she whispered brokenly and for the first time, Solo thought that he heard tears in her voice.

"Just finish it," he growled.

Irina nodded and continued her efforts. After what seemed like an eternity to them both, she managed to latch on to the bullet. Gently pulling the probe back, she extracted the slug and placed it on a towel. Blood was flowing freely now. She applied a towel and Solo groaned in pain again. "Almost done," she said quietly, soothingly. She threaded a needle, sanitized it with the provided alcohol and proceeded to close the wound. She moved quickly, but carefully; making small, even stiches, close together to permit the skin to knit with minimal scarring. When she was done, she bandaged the wound and reached for a combination of antibiotics and pain killers. She filled a syringe, tapping the glass tube to ensure there were no bubbles. Wiping her chosen spot on Solo's bicep with an alcohol pad, she administered the medication.

After she had administered the injection, Irina was able to take a deep, is somewhat shaky breath. "How do you feel?," she asked.

"With all the Scotch and the Demarol, I'm feeling fine." Solo tried a smile that was only partially successful. Irina nodded, looking intently at the man.

"I need to clean up," she said, gathering up the stained towels and bandages, disinfecting that items that she used and packing away all the medical paraphernalia. She picked up the box and turned to go back to Solo's bedroom to replace the kit where she had found it. As she turned away, Solo reached out with his good, right arm and grasped her wrist. He pulled her around so that they were facing each other.

"Thank you," he said gently, looking into her eyes. Irina just nodded, uncomfortable with the intensity of the blue eyes looking into hers. Solo did not release her wrist, but continued searching Irina's face and eyes. "Where did you learn to do this?," he asked quietly. Irina opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again. What was she going to say?

Before she could move, she heard the familiar voice. "Yes.I would like to know this also." said her brother.


	10. Chapter 10

Irina froze in place at the sound of the familiar voice. She started to shake – not from fear, but from emotion. The box slipped out of her hands as she turned to look into her brother's eyes which were full of confusion, concern, anger, and ,something that broke Irina's heart; the look of betrayal.

Irina opened her mouth and tried to speak, but she was not able to utter a sound. She took a deep, shaky breath and tried again. "I wanted to tell you," she whispered, tears running down her face. "I tried. That first night. But then it just got harder to tell you – how could I tell you?" She turned to Napoleon, still sitting in the chair, "I am sorry. This is all my fault."

In three steps, Kuryakin strode across the hotel suite and stood in front of Irina.

"Peril," Solo growled in warning using all of his remaining strength to rise from the chair.

Kuryakin spared his partner a look, but then focused again on his sister. Towering over her, he took her hands in his, crouching slightly so that he could look in her eyes. "Dorogaya," he said with heartbreaking gentleness. "You are safe here. You are among friends. Nobody will hurt you. I swear it. We will keep you safe; please tell me," he paused making eye contact first with Gaby and then with Solo, "...please tell us so we can help you."

He led Irina to the couch,helping her sit down and sitting across from her. Gaby handed her a drink, before sitting down next to Kuryakin, her eyes full of sympathy.

Irina looked into the glass and realized that she was still shaking; the ice in the glass clanking so hard against against its sides that she was afraid the glass would shatter. Irina took another deep breath and fought for control. She was grateful beyond measure when she felt Solo seat himself next to her, offering his silent support.

Irina took another breath and stilled her hands. She looked around, making sure to look into the eyes of each of the three people sitting with her. "In the 16th century, Katherine di Medici took the throne and found that she was at a disadvantage. She had no network to obtain information. She had spies, but there were many places the men could not go. This was the birth of what she called her 'Escadron Volant', her 'flying squadron'," Irina said. She saw the confusion and went on. "Queen Katherine, gathered to her a group of beautiful, educated young women to be her information network both in the bedroom and in the public places. "Five years ago, I was recruited by the KGB...," Irina used the Russian acronym, "to work for their version of the "Flying Squadron". It is called Section 35. I did not want to do it, but they made me." Irina risked a look at her brother and she saw understanding began to dawn in his eyes.

Barely taking a breath, she continued, quickly. "I am sorry, Illya...so very, very sorry. I was prohibited from telling you; they said...," Irina looked at Kuryakin, her eyes begging for understanding, "...they said that if I refused or if I told you, I would...I would," she breathed, trying to calm herself, "...that I would put you in danger. They said that they would not be able to keep you safe."

Kuryaking growled in anger, "So they threatened you?"

Irina nodded. Wiping her tears away. "I understand," the man said. "They told me the same thing when I joined."

"I was recruited after I finished University," Irina continued. "They trained me like all KGB agents and sent me out within the year of recruitment. I was a spy with a focus on influential men who like pretty girls." The look of distaste on her face was obvious.

"Did you have to...,"Kuryakin did not get to finish the question

"No. Not usually. We had other means to get what we wanted." Kuryakin wanted to ask more questions, but thought better of it. He probably did not want to know.

Kuryakin considered his sister. "Did you have a Handler?"

Irina nodded. "Sergei Ashenko. He oversaw...," she stopped speaking when she saw the look on her brother's face. "Illya? What is wrong?" Kuryakin had become pale and his face looked to have aged ten years.

"I know him. Ashenko and I...," he paused, "...have a history." Now it was everbody's turn to look at the big Russian. "When I was in the army, he was my commanding officer," Kuryakin spoke as if the words tasted bitter. "He was a pig and a coward. He got men killed. I made sure authorities knew what he had done. He was removed from command and reprimanded. He has hated me ever since."

"If he was removed from command, how could he have ended up with the posting with the KGB...?," Solo asked the question, but answered it as soon as the initial words were out of his mouth, "Connections."

Kuryakin nodded," His father is high in the Central Committee," he said referring to the leading body of the Soviet Communist Party. "They both dislike me very much,"Kuryakin continued, the wry twist to his mouth indicating the depth of the understatement. Then his face became very serious again as he looked at his younger sister – the one person he had promised to always keep safe. "Did they know who you were when they recruited you?"

Irina nodded, "Yes. Sergei enjoyed reminding me what the consequences of my failure would be. He also tried to pressure me to..." She stopped. "But I would never. He is a,….," she used a filthy term that made even Kuryakin look up.

"Irinachka," Kuryakin started quietly, steering away from a very painful subject. "Your dreams. Who was being hurt? Tell us, please. Maybe we can help."

Irina's face crumpled. She wrapped her arms around her body seeking comfort. "Peril...," Solo said. "Maybe its enough?"

"No," Irina whispered. "You should know everything. You need to understand." She rocked back and forth on the couch. "I was in for several years when Sergei gave me an assignment. I was team lead. There were four of us. Me, Natalia, Katya, and Lara. They were just out of University. Not more than twenty one –it was their first mission. The Mission was to engage with some businessmen from the Crimea since there was concern that they were spying for a foreign power." Irina took a breath and went on. "My orders were to observe outside and let the other three do the work – it was to be their final test."

"Irina," Solo spoke quietly, his voice heavy with pain, as if he knew what was going to happen. "You don't have to."

Irina continued as if she had not heard him; she seemed to be actually reliving the events.

"The girls went in and I was outside listening." She was crying so hard, she could barely speak. "I do not know what happened or why, but the men brought the girls inside. They talked for a little while and there were some drinks. Then, all of a sudden, they attacked the girls. With fists and...and," Irina paused as if in physical pain, "...and other things."

"The girls screamed and cried. They begged. They asked to be extracted. I radioed Sergei, but he ordered me to stand down. I was listening to them getting...getting killed, and I was ordered to not do anything. I begged Sergei, but he would not let me. I waited five minutes before going in – just five minutes. I did not think it was that long. Why did I wait? I should not have waited. I went in. I took care of the men," the cold, hardness of her eyes left no question of the fate of the abusers. "I was too late," she wept. "Too late. Lara, was already dead; her skull was crushed. Natalia, and Katya were still alive..barely alive. They were covered in blood." Irina covered her eyes as if she could block out the horrific memories. I called for help, but Natalia died in my arms." Deep sobs racked her body as she tried to continue talking. "Katya was the youngest. She held on until the ambulance came, but then she looked at me and just closed her eyes... and that was it. She was gone. My entire team. I could not protect them"

Kuryakin dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her face in his hands. Irina lifted her tear stained face."Its alright. It's all over now," he whispered soothingly, stroking her hair. Irina sobbed for a few more moments. "There was nothing you could have done,"Kuryakin said. "This is the type of sick little game that Sergei would play."

Irina looked up. Her eyes were rimmed in red, but now where cold and hard. Solo saw the steel that he had already seen in his partner now expressed in this hurt young woman. "I am going to find Sergei," she said very calmly. "And I am going to make him pay." It did not occur to anybody in the room to doubt her.

"Sergei was not punished, and neither was I. I confronted Sergei, and he laughed. He told me that this is what happened to people who did not do as he ordered. Not that he wanted me anymore, he said. I was used up, he said." She laughed harshly, the sound ending in another sob. Another sob as she tried to bring herself under control. "So now you know," she said simply. "I am sorry, Illya. I never wanted to lie to you. She turned to Solo. "Napoleon," she whispered, gently touching his injured arm. "This is my fault, I am so sorry, to bring this on your heads."

Napoleon, still groggy from blood loss and pain killers, stood up from the couch, reached out and caught her hand, turning her around to face him. All at once, Irina found herself staring into Solo's eyes. His gaze was so intense that she had to look down and found herself staring at his wounded shoulder. Comprehension came to her with devastating clarity causing her to gasp as her free hand covered her mouth. "You stepped into the path of the bullet," she whispered, eyes again raised to meet those of her savior. "You saw...or maybe sensed something, and you moved to shield me from the bullet you knew was coming. "You saved my life. If that bullet hit me, I would be dead. I do not know how...what to say," she stuttered overwhelmed both by what she just realized as much as by what she was seeing the man's eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "It is so little, but all I can say, is thank you."

Napoleon looked down at the woman who had somehow come to mean so much to him. Fighting the urge to pull her closer yet, and with a voice that was still strong and i resonating with an emotion that he could not name, he said "Like Peril said. You are safe here. I won't let anybody hurt you. I promise you."

Irina looked over at the other man whose intense gaze was willing her to believe that he would continue to protect her. She nodded quietly and Solo, reluctantly, released her hand.

Kuryakin watched this brief exchange with his own dawning realization of what his partner had done both for him and for his sister. "Cowboy...," he started to say, but was interrupted as Gaby spoke breaking the tension in room.

"But who is out to hurt you and why?" She asked.

Irina turned to look at Gaby, her dismay evident on her face. "I swear to you all, I have no idea.


	11. Chapter 11

Irina looked around at the three people who were all looking at her intently. Gaby and Illya sitting side by side and Napoleon who had returned to the couch that she had vacated and sat down rather heavily.

Something was tickling the back of her mind. Something about what she saw when Napoleon took her hand and turned her around. Something about the fact that she was staring straight at his shoulder, her eyes exactly on the level with his wound...her eyes were where the sniper's bullet entered...The realization hit her so hard she gasped and her hand came to her mouth. The bullet hitting Napoleon was not a fortunate coincidence that the bullet entered his shoulder. She was now certain that Napoleon either saw or, at least, sensed something and stepped in front of that bullet; the bullet that would have killed her...he had saved her life. "Napoleon," she whispered, looking directly at him daring him to deny what she knew was the truth. "You took that bullet, Napoleon," she whispered. "It was not an accident. You saw something and you protected me...You saved my life," she paused, still grappling with the enormity of it, "You saved my life...and you risked your life to do it...Why?"

She was not sure, but she thought that she detected the slightest flush crawl up from Napoleon's neck and add color to his pale cheeks and his eyes softened a trifle. He looked at this injured shoulder, "This is preferable to what Peril would have done to me if anything had happened to you." He had tried to make a joke; to treat the situation lightly, but his voice caught slightly at the thought of seeing this young woman come to harm.

Irina's hand still tingled from where Napoleon had touched it. How could one simple touch, have affected her so much? Why would somebody she had just met, risk his life for her - somebody who meant nothing to him. Her feeling roiled and mixed with fear into a morass and she was struggling to think through it.

Irina looked at the man on the couch carefully and what she saw worried her. His face was drawn and pale with a fine sheen of sweat. When she stood next to him, she felt heat radiating from his body; he was running a fever. Irina knew that she was as proficient in first aid as any other field agent, but she was no doctor. Perhaps she had done or not done something that had made Napoleon's condition worse. Her heart contracted in sympathy when she saw him shift his weight and cringe at the obvious pain the movement caused him.

Kuryakin was watching the interaction with a quickly-dawning realization. "Cowboy," he started to say. When Solo's eyes met his, he did not know what to say. "Thank you," he said simply and was rewarded with the slightest of nods.

Gaby had been watching and she cleared her throat, shattering the uncomfortable, fraught silence. "Irina," she said quietly. "You were saying."

Grateful to get back on task, although terrified by the realizations that were streaming through her brain, Irina took a deep breath. "Or rather, I had not thought of anybody until just now," she said in a more business-like tone. This kind of problem solving is what she was trained for. She went to Kuryakin and handed him a small cloth that had been stained with blood. "With everything happening so fast," she said with a side glance at Solo, "I had forgotten about this." Kuryakin carefully unwrapped the item, studied it for a full minute, before looking up again. Irina nodded. "That caliber is used in a Dragunov Sniper Rifle…it could be for something else, of course, but under the circumstances…," she trailed off. Staring at it again, she shuddered. That had been meant for her. If Napoleon had not interfered…she would not be here to worry about who was hunting her.

Kuryakin nodded agreement. "That is the most likely weapon." He looked at the confused faces of his partners. "It is a Spetsnaz Sniper rifle. Very specialized." He looked up at his sister, "And very accurate." Irina nodded once, every agent was familiar with the entire Russian arsenal, but while she knew the gun and could easily identify its profile, she had never even touched one. "Ashenko was a sniper in the Army," Kuryakin said quietly. "It was one of the few things he was good at."

Irina nodded. "He boasted about his skill all the time." She considered and said softly, "I do not understand why he wants me dead so much that he would do it himself. There is nothing I can do to him…I pose no real threat."

Solo was trying to think, but it was getting harder and harder to fight the fog of pain and exhaustion. "He did have you sent to the Gulag. For some reason he thinks there is some way that you can harm him."

Kuryakin was sitting quietly, thinking. He then looked up and shook his head. "I do not think so, Cowboy," he said, shaking his head. "Irina," he said. "When you think of Ashenko, what do you think of? What is the first thing you think of?"

Irina chewed her lip, thinking. "Arrogant...and...paranoid," she said with certainty. He was as paranoid as Stalin."

"Yes," Kuryakin nodded agreement. His face then changed as he looked into his sister's eyes. "When you were in the...," he stumbled, not being able to say the word. "What did they do while you were a prisoner?"

Irina looked down, choosing her words carefully. "They tor...," she saw her brother flinch – a movement so slight only she saw it. "They questioned me," she amended.

Kuryakin continued pressing. "How many people?"

"Ten...sometimes fifteen or more."

"Would Ashenko ever trust that many people with information? Had he ever given information to more than one or two people? To his inner circle?"

"No...," Irina did not know what else to say.

"Somebody contacted me to tell me you were in the Gulag," Kuryakin continued. "That does not sound like Ashenko."

"No," Irina said. "He would not."

"Irinachka. They took you. The KGB took you for another reason. To make sure I knew they still controlled me." His face fell as he looked into her eyes. "I am so...,"

Irina cut him off. "Let those bastards apologize...and explain what they wanted from me...If it was only to send you a message, why spend the time questioning me. Why did they keep asking me about my missions and if I knew where Ashenko was." The words were just out of her mouth. "Ilya..."

Kuryakin was nodding.

"Would you two like to let the rest of us in on this," Solo asked waspishly.

Kuryakin and Irina exchanged a look and Kuryakin spoke. "Ashenko has gone rogue. He is hunting Irina and the KGB is hunting him."

Solo was trying to follow the conversation between the brother and sister, but the fog enveloping his brain was making it harder and harder. His shoulder ached terribly and now the throbbing in his arm was echoed by the throbbing in his head. Although, it was a warm afternoon, he found himself shivering and cold.

Solo was struggling to have a coherent thought, but after a while, he was able to determine that, since he was cold, he needed either a shirt or a blanket. He tried to rise from the couch, but found, to his surprise that it was very difficult – he did not have the strength to push himself up. With an extra effort, he managed to leverage himself up. When he stood up, swaying slightly, he realized that Irina, Gaby, and Kuryakin were all looking at him. That was the last coherent thought he had as his knees buckled and his world went black.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay. I really wanted to write this chapter. I hope that you enjoy.

Both Gaby and Irina moved toward Solo as he began to sway, but it was Kuryakin, who launched himself from the couch, reaching Solo before either of the two women. Kuryakin quickly caught Solo under his shoulders. "Easy, Cowboy," he murmured quietly and with surprising gentleness. Kuryakin half walked and half carried his partner the few steps to the couch and lowered him on to the pillow that Irina had already prepared. Solo was shaking as if cold and Gaby had gone to the bedroom to retrieve a blanket. Irina's fingers grazed Solo's forehead. "He's burning up," she said, her eyes mirroring the concern in those of his two partners.

"I will call Dr. Philips," Gaby said quietly and left the room.

"What is wrong with him," Kuryakin asked. The sharpness in his voice betraying his concern.

"I don't know," Irina said. "His wound looks clean. There is no infection." Solo seemed to be saying something, but it was so quiet that they could not understand. He moaned softly and his head thrashed from side to side as if he was having a nightmare. Irina walked over to the wet bar and filled a small bowl with water, then taking one of the clean towels, dipped it in the cool water and applied it to Solo's forehead. A sigh escaped his lips as he seemed to relax slightly although he continued to murmur insistently.

"The Doctor is on his way," Gaby said re-entering the room. "How is he?"

Irina shook her head," Not good. The fever seems to be climbing and he is delirious."

"But he will be OK, right," Kuryakin asked, completely failing his attempt at nonchalance. The question remained unanswered.

Solo remembered feeling like he was falling. Then something soft and warm. Clouds he thought. Clouds are soft. It did not occur to him to wonder why there would be clouds around him. He felt something cool bathe his forehead and that revived him enough to open his eyes. Although he would later deny it even to himself, he could have sworn that he was seeing an angel leaning over him. "Everything is alright, Napoleon," the angel said. "Just rest. You will be alright."

"Only my mother calls me Napoleon," Solo muttered. He reached out a hand toward the angel, but saw her drift away as his vision faded into darkness.

Irina was watching Solo intently as his eyes fluttered open; they were glazed with fever and pain and she doubted that he even knew where he was. She tried to calm him. "Everything is alright, Napoleon. Just rest. You will be alright." Napoleon muttered something unintelligible. His uninjured hand tried to reach for her, but it appeared that he lacked strength. To help calm him, she took the hand in hers, not quite able to ignore the electricity that jolted through her body at the contact. When next she looked, solo was again unconscious.

Kuryakin was watching his partner...his friend worriedly. He was not used to seeing the unflappable Napoleon Solo vulnerable. This is the man who had tolerated Electric Shock who had calmly faced down Victoria Vinciguerra and her nuclear bomb. It did not seem right to have him lying there helpless. Kuryakin growled deep in his throat and rose briskly. He paced the room like a caged animal unused to feeling helpless.

Mercifully, Dr. Philips arrived quickly. At his request Solo was moved to the bedroom so that he would be able to better examine him; it took Kuryakin's considerable strength to maneuver the mostly dead weight off the couch and onto the King Size bed. The doctor thanked Kuryakin and closed the door, leaving Irina, Gaby and Kuryakin to wait and wonder.

Gaby sat down and tried to read a magazine which she was holding upside down. Kuryakin continued to pace around the suite and Irina just stood in front of the door, hands clasped as if ii prayer and pressed against her lips which she continued to chew.. After a few minutes, Kuryakin came over and placed his hands on Irina's shoulders. "He will be OK," he said. "He will be OK." Irina looked up into her brother's eyes; she was looking for comfort, but found only the same worries that was tearing at her.

It seemed to take forever, but after no more than half an hour, Dr. Phillips opened the door. Three set s of eyes looked up at him full of questions. "What's wrong with him, Doctor?" The question came from Irina and sounded almost like a plea.

The Doctor spared her a small smile. "First, I would like to say that whoever took care of Mr. Solo's wound did a fine job. It is clean and will heal well."

"Then why...," Gaby started.

"Has Mr. Solo experienced any significant trauma or stress recently? In the last seven to ten days, perhaps?"

At first there was silence, then Gaby spoke. "Uncle Rudi...his chair."

Kuryakin took over, "He was tortured. They used Electricity."

The doctor nodded sagely. "Yes. That would do it. His body experienced shock and trauma and that made it more vulnerable to any subsequent injuries." The doctor smiled again. "The fever has to run its course, but he will be fine. It is nothing dangerous. I have given him something that will help him sleep for a while and ease his symptoms somewhat." When he saw that the people around him did not quite believe him, he continued. "The fever will burn itself out within twenty four to thirty six. He will be somewhat weak, but he will be fine." He looked around. "I do suggest that somebody stay within him, however."

With those last encouraging words, Dr. Philips packed up his bag and left.

Irina looked around. "I will stay with Napoleon," she said before anybody had a chance to react. "I just need to clean up and change," she said looking down at her bloodstained dress. For some reason Kuryakin had an uncomfortable feeling, but he nodded. Fifteen minutes later, Irina was back wearing jeans and a blouse.

"I need to go to the Russian Embassy tomorrow morning. I want to know what they know about Ashenko." He was escorting Gaby out the door, but he turned to his sister. "He's strong," he said. "He will be OK."

"I know," Irina said. Then trying to further convince both herself and her brother, "I know."

Once Gaby and Kuryakin had left, she went to check on Solo. She quietly entered the bedroom and approached the bed. She gasped in surprise. The doctor had removed Napoleon's shirt to examine him and now, in his delirium, Napoleon had thrown off the blankets. What struck her was the number of injuries that Napoleon had clearly suffered in his life. Looking at his torso, she saw several healed gunshot wounds, some long thin scars that she thought might be stab wounds, and then there were others that even Irina could not explain and, by the look, did not want to think too deeply about them.

Solo moaned quietly, and Irina reached over to touch his forehead. He was still burning hot. She brought cold water and a towel and bathed his face and chest until he seemed to find some relief and slipped into a deeper sleep.

Irina was dozing in the armchair in the bedroom when she awoke to somebody calling out in French.

Napoleon was tossing on the bed, his body convulsing as if in pain. "Please," he begged. "Please Patrice. Don't. Just me. Please. They don't deserve to die. Kill me, please, but let them go." A fraught silence followed and suddenly, Solo cried out as if in great pain. His body began to spasm as if...Irina realized in horror...as if he was being shot. Again Solo cried out in pain and then subsided, moaning quietly. Irina saw tears running from his tightly closed eyes.

Worried and terrified, Irina ran to the bed. She took Solo's face between her hands. "Napoleon," she called urgently. "Napoleon. Wake up. You are safe. I am here. Everything is alright." She continued to speak and even tried to shake the man. Finally, as she was holding his shoulders and again assuring him that he was well, she heard Solo groan. His eyes fluttered. He finally opened his eyes, looking around in fear.

Again, Irina spoke gently, trying not to startle him. "Napoleon. Look at me. It is alright. You are going to be alright." Finally, she saw the eyes focus on her and the wild terror subside.

"Only my mother calls me Napoleon," he whispered.

Irina could not help but smile. "That was quite a nightmare," she said gently.

"You have no idea," was the gruff response.

"How do you feel," Irina asked.

"Like hell."

Irina brought him water and held his head while he drank. That seemed to exhaust Solo and he fell back breathing hard, his fever spiking again.

"Rest," Irina whispered. "Doctor says you will be fine once the fever runs its course."

Solo reached for her hand. "Thank you," he said as his eyes closed again.

"You are welcome, Napoleon. You are very welcome," Irina responded in her head since Napoleon was already asleep.

Irina continued to watch the man sleep. He had not released her hand and seemed to be resting. She watched his face and realized that now, he looked much younger with all the care, pain, and sadness had been smoothed away by sleep. She could not help herself, but reached out and brushed away the dark curls that had slipped over his eyes. At some point, Irina fell asleep, her head resting by Solo's arm.

Irina opened her eyes. She realized that she was lying on the bed and that the light of day was streaming in through the partially opened curtains. She also noticed that she was looking up into the ceiling. Try as she might, Irina could could not remember getting on the bed. In a moment, she realized that she heard water running in the bathroom.

The bathroom door opened and Solo walked out wearing a robe and rubbing a towel through his dark hair. "Ah, you're awake," he said. His voice was still a little weak and he was still pale and shaky, but true to the doctor's word, he was definitely on the way to recovery.

"How?" Irina managed to ask.

"When I woke up, I saw you sleeping. You looked exhausted and uncomfortable, so I moved you onto the bed to get some rest." When he saw her panicked look, he smiled slightly. "Don't worry. I was so weak that just moving you almost made me pass out. If I had even contemplated an assault on your virtue...," Solo flashed Irina a knowing smile that made her feel uncomfortably warm, "...you would have been able to subdue me practically in your sleep."

"How are you feeling," Irina managed to ask.

"Still weak as a kitten, but better." Solo stopped and looked at the younger woman seriously. "I know you were with me the whole time. I know you kept the nightmares away." His eyes were strangely intent. "Thank you," he said. Their eyes locked and there was something in his eyes that made Irina heart flutter inside her chest. She felt a flush climb up her face and although she wanted to look away, she found that she could not – Solo's compelling gaze held her like a butterfly on a pin.

A knock on the door, broke the moment.

Solo coughed awkwardly. "I ordered coffee for us."

"I will get it," rolling out of bed and walking quickly to the door.

"Who is it," she asked.

"Room Service for Mr. Solo," came the expected response

Irina opened the door and let the waiter in. She watched carefully as the man balanced the tray and walked toward the table. Her instincts were singing and her heart was beating fast. Without warning she lashed out, knocking the tray into the waiter's face. The hot liquid scalded the man and he howled. Irina swept at his feet knocking him down. She kicked out and rolled the man onto his stomach. Grabbing his arm, she pulled it behind him and braced her foot against his shoulder blade; completely controlling him.

The noise brought Solo running out wearing nothing but his pants.

"What the hell...," he started. "Irina. What are you doing?"

Irina was panting with the effort that it had taken to subdue him as well as to continue to keep control of the struggling man.

"This is not a waiter," she said between deep breaths. "This man is a KGB spy.

I cannot vouch for the doctor's diagnosis, but hopefully it works. Working on showing the increasing attraction that neither really realizes it fully yet. Please let me know what you think and if it feels genuine. I always knew that Solo had ghosts, so I wanted to put that in - I do not think that it is against canon - but please let me know. Thank you in advance for taking the time to read and provide feedback to my story


	13. Chapter 13

The waiter continued to struggle under Irina's control. "Signore. Per favore. La signorina e pazzo." Irina glanced up at Solo who was still staring at the tableau. She wrenched the arm harder to maintain control.

"Please," her voice was tense with her efforts. "Search him for a gun. You'll see."

Solo was not sure, but Irina seemed so certain; he had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts and the instincts of other agents. He bent down and began to frisk the struggling man. He found nothing until he was patting down the left leg. "What have we here," he queried, rolling up the man's pant leg and pulling a Makarov pistol from an ankle holster. "Well...Well." He checked the gun and realizing that it was loaded, took the safety off and pointed it at the man on the ground. "I suggest that you stop struggling and stand up very slowly," Solo growled.

Irina let go of the man and stepped back, but not before shooting a smug look at Solo.

The two agents got the man to a chair and Irina used several belts to restrain him.

"How did you know," Solo asked, impressed.

"His accent," Irina said without a pause.

"Accent? I did not hear an accent," Solo said.

"Exactly. You can always tell KGB training. They teach the perfect language skills, but usually can't do regional accents." Solo looked at Irina whose English sounded so normally middle American.

"I spent a lot of time watching American movies so that I actually had an accent." Solo nodded. He was impressed. He looked at Irina again. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair, wild. Her chest was still rising and falling quickly from the exertion and excitement. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with excitement and energy. To Solo, at that moment, she was simply the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. Fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, Solo forced himself to return to business

"Who are you?" He asked the still struggling man.

"I can tell you," Kuryakin's familiar voice boomed from the door as he entered, followed by Gaby. Kuryakin walked to where the man was sitting and carefully looked him over. "Vasiley? What have they sent you to fetch this time?"

Seeing the blank looks on the faces around him, Kuryakin explained. "This is Vasiley Karkoff. He fancies himself an agent. But all he is a flunky sent on errands by those better than him." The other man started to protest, but a cold stare from Kuryakin silenced him.

A smirk spread across his lips. "I am here for her," he said nodding toward Irina. "They want to see her."

He did not have to explain who "they" were. Irina, wide eyed and clearly shaken began to back up away from the man. She was shaking her head, "No. No. I won't go." Unwittingly, she backed right into Solo who put an arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Peril," Solo asked, "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes, Mr. Solo, I am afraid that it is.," this time it was the cultured British voice of Weatherly. "I am afraid that Miss Kuryakin must go and speak to the Agent in Charge at the Russian Consulate".

"Why?" Irina did not know the man, but she recognized authority when she saw it. "

The Englishman looked her up and down, then put out his hand. "Miss Kuryakin. I am Alexander Waverly. I am in charge of this little organization," he indicated the three agents in the room. "You have to go, because both us and the Russians need something that you may have." When he saw her confused expression, Waverly continued. "I am sure that you have surmised by now that Sergei Ashenko has gone rogue. He and a small group of like-minded fanatics are looking to start World War Three."

"But why?" Irina pressed. "After everything that Russia suffered during the War, why inflict it again on the people?"

Kuryakin spoke up. "Because Ashenko believes that in this new war, Russia would be victorious over the Allies and the United States and would be in a stronger position as a world power." Waverly nodded his ascent.

"That's insane," Gaby cried.

"The man is clearly crazy," Waverly agreed. "That is what's worrying. We have no idea what he would do. That is where you come in. You may know something that would help us."

Irina felt like all that she wanted to do was to shrink into herself and disappear. Unconsciously she pressed herself tighter against Solo, who continued to hold her. "They will send me back," she whispered.

"No!" The exclamation came simultaneously from both Kuryakin and Solo.

"I will go with you," Kuryakin said, looking at Irina, but speaking to Solo. "They will do nothing, other than speak to you."

Irina felt the arm around her relax, even as she felt some of the tension leave her own body. "Ok," she said resignedly. "I will go wash and change."

"Miss Kuryakin," Waverly spoke, a slight smile on his face. "You may also wish to pack. Another quizzical look. "Now that you are well, it only makes sense that you have your own suite...it will be across the hall from Mr. Kuryakin's and Miss Teller's."

For some reason that she could not quite fathom at the moment, the idea of her own suite made her very happy, but she had so many other things on her mind, that Irina just nodded and left.

"Kuryakin released Karkoff from his bindings, but held him fast with one arm behind the back. "We will wait outside," he said and pushed the slightly struggling man toward the door.

"I will get ready too," said Solo.

"No." Kuryakin demurred. "You stay and rest. You cannot come to the Consulate. Solo looked like he wanted to argue, but truth be told, everything that had transpired in the last hour had already left him exhausted. He was already beginning to think that there were better things that he could do while Ilya and Irina were away. He nodded. He had some planning to do.


	14. Chapter 14

The day light was fading by the time that Irina exited the Russian Consulate. She hailed a taxi to take her back to the hotel and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. She looked exhausted and over-wrought. Her dress, neat and crisp this morning, hung like a rumpled rag. Irina sighed. The last six hours had been hell. Both the Russians and Waverly had insisted that she recount every particular of every mission for the last five years; including the one where she lost her team. They all made her re-live the last five years and now, sitting in the cab, fighting the urge to fall asleep, she felt like she had aged at least as much. All she wanted was a not bath, a glass of wine and her bed. Irina smiled tiredly...a bath in her own room...a sybaritic pleasure in which she had very few occasions to indulge.

The doorman helped Irina out of the cab and she walked to the front desk to collect her key. "There are no messages, Seniorina," the girl at the front desk said. Good...Irina was not expecting any. Irina slipped the key into the lock and walked into her suite. She immediately stepped out of her shoes and dropped her handbag on the bench by the door. Suddenly her eyes were drawn to the table in the foyer and the crystal vase with a large bouquet of roses.

Thinking that perhaps this was de rigour in the fancy hotel, Irina examined the flowers. Nestled among the blooms was a small white envelope with gilded edges. Her name was written on the front. Feeling a flush of warmth and anticipation, Irina tore open the envelope. She pulled out the gilt-edged sheet. The note was short, simple and to the point...and it made Irina's heart race. "Dinner tonight? Seven? Since I was so inconsiderate as to ruin your dress yesterday, I have taken the liberty to replace it. I do hope you like it." There was no signature, only the letter, "N".

Smiling and holding the note close, Irina practically ran into her bedroom and threw open the closet. She could not contain a gasp of pure pleasure when she saw the dress that Napoleon had selected. The silk was the deep read of a Bordeaux with a rounded neckline and cap sleeves both trimmed with jet beads The fitted waist flared into a full skirt. Irina reached a tentative finger and touched the fabric, closing her eyes as the fabric practially poured through her hand. Suddenly, she was not tired at all.

She walked to the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water. A long soak and a good scrub, and Irina felt more human. She sat at the vanity and brushed her hair; opting for a simple knot at the back of her neck. She had just finished applying lipstick when the clock in her bedroom struck seven. Taking a deep breath, Irina stood u, straighted the dress, and walked to the door. Just as she entered the foyer, she heard the gentle knock and opened the door.

Solo had try to plan for every eventuality, but what he did not plan was his reaction on seeing Irina in the red silk. His breath caught in his throat and his mouth went dry; that she was beautiful he had known; tonight she was exquisite. The red brought our her blue eyes, made her hair look even more golden and brought a warmth to her fair skin. The curve of the neckline exposed the collarbone and it took every bit of his self control to keep his hands at his side and not reach out and stroke it.

Irina looked at Solo and smiled shyly. Rather than the dark suit and tie, that seemed to be his standard uniform, the American wore a casual light gray suit, skipping the tie and leaving his shirt opened at the neck. Irina felt her cheeks turning red and burning and pulled her eyes away.

"Shall we go?" Solo asked offering Irina his arm.

The restaurant was a surprise and revelation; a tiny intimate place where the owner clearly knew him and no menu was needed. Napoleon had a quick conversation with the owner and a bottle of wine appeared. He poured two glasses and the toasted. "To meeting new people," he toasted with a smile. Irina touched his glass with a smile. The wine was delicious and it helped her start to relax.

Solo looked at Irina, "I now know that you are a super KGB spy who doubles as a damn fine medic," he said lightly. "How about you tell me some things about you personally. Things that I don't know."

Irina blushed slightly, took a sip of wine and began talking. She had not realized it before, but Napoleon was easy to talk to. She was very used to keeping secrets; to not having anybody but Ilya to talk to; this was a relief. She spoke about her father; the man she never actually knew, except through files that she had found once she had started working for the KGB; the man who had been falsely accused and prosecuted because he had dared question Comrade Stalin. She spoke about her mother, the woman who had worked so hard to keep the little family together after her husband had been branded a traitor; the woman who used up all her strength and died, leaving a six year old girl and a teenaged son to fend for themselvs. Most of all, she spoke about Ilya. That she adored him, Solo clearly saw, but through Irina's words, he began to understand the depth of the sacrifices that his partner had made to ensure that his younger sister would be taken care of.

Irina stopped speaking and looked up at Solo. "Well that was the longest speak I think that I have ever made,{ she said, smiling. "My turn...May I ask you something?" Solo nodded slowly. "Fair is fair," Irina teased. "You now know everything about me. I just want to know a little something about you."

"Shoot," Solo said, voice full of trepidation.

Irina took a deep breath, "Last night when you were delirious with your fever...You called out a name...a woman's name...," Irnia left the question hanging as she watched the color drain from Solo's face. "I'm sorry, " she said quickly. "I never meant to...," she reached out to cover Solo's hand with her own.

"It's OK," he said. "I have wanted to tell somebody...," A deep breath. "I enlisted when I was nineteen. By the time I was twenty, I was assigned to lead a company. We were stationed in France, supporting a band of resistance fighters. Their leader was Patrice." Solo's eyes were no longer focusing...he was looking into the past. "She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met...intoxicating, mysterious...evrything a kid from the midwest dreams about. I fell in love." Solo spat the word out as if it was bitter in his mouth. "At least I thought I was."

"What happened to her," Irina asked, fearing the answer.

Solo's mouth tightened, and his face became bleak. "Turned out that she was a Nazi sympathiser." The answer shocked Irina and she gasped, her hand tightening on Solo's. He continued in the same monotone. "She led the whole company into am ambush." Irina thought she saw moisture in the corner of his eyes as he looked up and away from her. "Nazi's opened fire in the middle of the forest. I begged her to only kill me...the rest of them...had nothing to do with it...they were just kids...they were all killed." Solo took a breath and drained his wine glass. "Only three of us survived. "I don't know how or why, but every day since then, a part of me had wished that I was killed alongside of my men."

Irina sat still, tears in her eyes, looking at Solo. "Oh God," she whispered. "Oh My God. I am so sorry. I should never have...,"

"No," Solo interrupted gently, "I think I needed to tell somebody. I think that will help the nightmares. There was just nobody who would listen...until now" He tried to smile at her, a sad small smile that broke her heart.

The two sat quietly looking at each other for a few minutes, until Solo broke the spell. He shook his hand and smiled a genuine smile. He noticed that Irina was finished with her meal. He called the waiter over and paid the bill. "C'mon," he said helping her up. "I want to show you something."

He escorted her out of the restaurant and lead her through several small streets. He led her down a small alleyway and stepped out of the way at its end. Irina gasped. In front of her, framed by the walls of the alley and illuminated by powerful lights, stood the Colosseum. Irina drew in an awed breath. "Its magnificent, she breathed."

She felt Solo standing right behind her; she felt the heat coming off his body and she felt a hand come and rest on her waist. "Yes. It is," she heard his whisper in her ear.

Surprised by the warmth in the voice, Irina turned suddenly and found herself pressed against Solo's chest staring up into his eyes. There was something different in the way he looked at her. His eyes were warm and full of... a shock – like a charge of electricity went through Irina's body. She gasped at the realization. How had she not seen this before? How had she missed the signs in herself? "Oh my," she breathed. "Oh, my."

Solo's hand was at her back and he was pulling her even closer as the other hand came up to cup her face. "Irina," he whispered, as his lips claimed hers.

Irina wished that the kiss would go on forever, but a quiet cough from a passing older couple caused them to separate. Smiling sheepishly, Irina said, "Perhaps we should go back..."

Solo nodded and took Irina's hand. They walked quickly, but casually, stopping occasionally to exchange a kiss. Irina felt like her entire body was on fire. She had found Solo attarcive from the first, but the force of her emotions and her attraction shocked her...she had been so focused on other things, that she must have buried her feelings. Solo kept glancing over at the woman at his side. The strength of his feelings completely stunned him. How could this woman...this slip of a girl worm her way into his heart without either of them realizing it?

Solo and Irina rode the elevator in silence as if afraid that speaking would give them away. Irina led them to the door of her suite and inserted her key. Solo reached out and took her hand in his, preventing her from turning the key. He kissed the finger tips and spoke quietly, his voice husky with his need. "Irina," he almost whispered. "I would love nothing more than to be with you tonight." He hesitated as he saw her blush, but she looked at him and did not deny the implicit question. "But," Solo forced himself to continue," if you are not sure or want time or just do not want to...," a breath and he continued, "...you have but to say the word, and I will go to my room."

Irina looked at Solo. She extricated her hand and caressed his face briefly. She then took his hand, opened the door and led him inside.


	15. Chapter 15

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT.

Irina walked into her room and turned on the lights. "Would you like a…." she never finished her question. Solo closed the distance between them, turning Irina toward him and pulling her into his arms. One hand rested on her waist and the other buried itself in her bun pulling out the pins and letting them rain on the floor. He let the golden silken mass fall so that it cascaded down Irina's back. He moved both hands to her face tangling his fingers in her hair. He lowered his head and gently brushed her lips with his.

Irina gasped at the contact wanting more. She wrapped her arms around Solo's neck, carding her fingers through the hair at his nape.. Solo kissed her again, deepening the kiss this time and pulling Irina hard against his body. He flicked his tongue over her lips and she opened her mouth allowing her tongue to gently touch his. She was rewarded with a soft growl deep in his throat.

Eventually Solo broke the kiss. He looked at the woman standing next to him. He knew desire and lust, but this was different. He certainly did desire her, but there was so much needed Irina; needed her the way a man needed air to breathe and water to drink. With a gentle hand under her chin, he tipped her face up so theirs eyes met. "Irina," he started to say.

"Napoleon," Irina whispered. "I am no ingénue. I want this." She looked at Solo. "I want you." She placed her hands on his chest, feeling more than hearing the sharp in take of breath as her hands made contact. Moving her hands slowly, she slid them under his jacket pushing it back over his arms and letting it fall to the floor. She moved in closer and Solo used his now freed hands to stroke her back. He leaned and kissed her neck and the place where it merged with the top of her shoulders paying attention to one side and then the other.

As his hands moved upward, he found the fastening for Irina's dress. He looked at the woman in his arms with an eyebrow lifted in question and she blushed slightly and nodded. Deftly, Solo released the fasteners baring Irina's shoulders. Solo bent down and showered kisses on to the warm skin eliciting a low moan from Irina. He worked the dress lower until it was on the floor. Taking Irina's hands in his, Solo helped her step out of it. He stepped back and looked at the beautiful woman. "Oh God, Irina," he whispered huskliy." Solo felt himself harden and he fought for control.

Irina reached for Solo's shirt. She undid the first button, leaning in to place the lightest of kisses on his chest. She moved on to the next button and the next, kissing the exposed skin each time stopping only when she reached waistband of Solo's pants. Solo shrugged out of his shirt. Reaching again for Irina, he stroked her breasts now only covered in a bra. He gently kissed the tops of each breast, feeling the woman shudder in pleasure under his touch.

Solo picked up Irina and carried her into the bedroom. Irina had her arms around his neck and reached for a kiss. He laid her gently on the bed and sat along ide. Irina raised herself on her elbows as Solo reached around to remove her bra. He rubbed her nipples with his thumbs feeling them harden and watching Irina's head fall backward in pleasure. She moaned quietly and shifted in anticipation of what was next.

Solo reached for Irina again and his mouth crashed against hers – this time his kiss was possessive and demanding as his tongue mated with hers. Solo helped Irina lie down and covered her body with his, resting on an elbow so as not to crush her. He kissed her jaw, down her neck and between her breasts. He felt Irina's breathing speed up becoming almost like small gasps He continued his kisses down her chest and on to her belly. He stopped at the waistband of her panties, kissing where the elastic met her skin. Irina writhed under this sweet assault. Raising himself on his knees, he removed his belt, undid his trousers and removed them.

Irina reached for the cover sheets lifting them so that they both lay on the cool bed sheets beneath. Irina rolled into Solo's arms feeling her breasts press against his chest and glorying in the feel of his strong arms around her. Solo kissed her again. His hands roved over her body under the covers getting to know every inch of her. His hands reached her hips and he gently pulled her panties down her legs dropping them at the foot of the bed; his underwear joined hers in the same place.

Solo was almost shaking with desire. "Irina," Solo whispered. She moved against him. He ran his hands down her body, stopping when he reached the curls between her legs. He stroked down gently, watching Irina arch her back to meet his hand and hearing her cry out. His fingers gently explored her folds which were hot and wet.

"Napoleon," Irina gasped, "please." That was all that Solo needed. He moved between Irina's legs and slowly entered her. As he slid in, he groaned with pleasure. Irina cried out in pleasure her fingers bunching the sheets. Solo remained motionless his head thrown back in pleasure wanting to extend that moment forever. Eventually, his need became too great and he began to move. Irina wrapped her arms around his neck and moved with him, gasping each time he fully entered her.

Solo claimed Irina's lips again and she moaned into his mouth even as she returned his kisses. Their movements became faster as Solo thrust harder. The quiet moans became cries of pure pleasure as Irina pulled herself up so that she was pressed against Solo's chest. Solo was fighting to retain control in order to ensure that he bring Irina to climax. Suddenly, he felt her tighten around him and begin to shake. Irina cried out and buried her head in his shoulder, feeling the pleasure radiate through her body as paroxysm after paroxysm ran through her. Solo held the woman and felt his own control slip as he too went over the edge. "Rina," he whispered into her hair; the moment seemed to last forever.

Spent and satiated, Irina lay on the pillow, her damp hair spread around her head. She was stroking Solo's hair as he rested his head on her chest. As his breathing slowed and his heart stopped racing, Solo again marveled at the changed wrought in his life by this young woman. He enjoyed women in all ways, but, until now it was always on his terms. He had never before lost control so completely, never given so much of himself to another, nor had he ever felt so content. Slowly Solo realized he could identify the feeling – it was happiness; he was actually happy. And for that he had one young woman to thank.

Irina murmured sleepily as Solo shifted his weight to lay by her side. As he took Irina in his arms, Solo knew that there was something very important he needed to tell her; something that could change both their lives. He was in the process of formulating just the right words when exhaustion overtook him and, for the first time in over fifteen years, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Irina opened her eyes when an errant beam of sunlight passed across her face. She could tell by the slope of the ray that it was still early in the morning and the sounds coming from the open window indicated a city just coming awake. She reached over to the other side of the bed and let out a quite groan of disappointment when she realized that the bed was empty. The indentation from Solo's weight was still on the pillow and Irina rolled over capturing just a hint of his scent. She lay there a few more minutes remembering and savoring. Slowly, memories of the night came back to her. Irina smiled and stretched luxuriantly.

Irina heard a knock on the door to the suite and heard footsteps heading toward it. What she heard next caused her heart to go into her throat. She heard Illya's voice asking Napoleon where she was. She was just about to open the bedroom door when she realized that she was not wearing anything. The voices began to rise and Irina grabbed the first clothing item she could find.

Solo had awoken earlier. Irina was curled by his side, her head on his chest and his arm around her holding her close. Solo looked at the woman lying beside him for a full minute and debated waking her up to tell her what he had meant to say last night. She was sleeping so peacefully that he opted instead to gently kiss her and let her rest a while longer.

He got out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower and then, dressed in the hotel robe, he called to order breakfast and coffee. He glanced around the living room and saw his and Irina's clothing scattered all around. The memory of their passion caused stirrings below his belt and was almost enough that he wanted to return to bed and wake Irina again. Instead he picked up the discarded closhing and took it into the bedroom. He put on his pants, but left the robe on, leaving the remainder of the clothing on the chair for the housekeeping staff to attend to.

He heard a knock on the door and, thinking that it was breakfast headed to open it. Unfortunately, ,it was not Room Service at the door.

"Good morning, Peril...Gaby," Solo said expansively as he stepped aside to let them in.

Both agents eyed his apparel curiously and while Gaby hid a slight smile of...what was it...amusement? satisifaction?, Kuryakin glared at his partner.

"Cowboy," Kuryakin's voice was hard. "Where is Irina? I am not in the mood this morning for games."

Solo had just opened his mouth to speak when he heard the bedroom door open. Three heads turned and three sets of eyes saw Irina step out of the bedroom wearing Solo's dress shirt from the night before. Solo's mouth went dry as he saw her; the shirt flowed around her body hinting at the shape beneath and the short hem only enhanced the appearance of her long legs and her tousled hair were a powerful reminder of their night together. He had known that things would get...complicated, but had hoped that he would have more time. His eyes sought Irina's and was surprised when he saw her give him the slightest wink.

"I am here, Ilya," Irina said. Her voice was calm...almost. There was the tiniest tremor as she looked directly at her brother as if daring him to deny the truth of what had happened.

Kuryakin looked at his sister...his little sister and then over at this partner. "Solo," he growled.

"Ilya," this time the voice had command in it. "Ya ne prosto tvoya malen'kaya sestra, Ya vzroslaya zhenshchina (I am not just your little sister, I am a grown woman),"

The Russian lowered at the younger woman, but she would not be cowed and she looked back at him calmly. He then switched to glare at his partner and Solo returned the look with the slightest lift of an eyebrow. Kuryakin made a move toward Solo so quickly that Irina did not even have the chance to call out. Solo felt the slightest soupçon of fear, but held his ground his eyes focused on the Russian. Kuryakin returned the look; icy blue eyes looking into darker sapphire ones. He continued to look at his partner…at his friend as of searching for something. A moment later, his body seemed to relax slightly as if he had found the answer he was looking for. "I swear to you, Cowboy," Kuryakin ground out, "If you ever hurt her, I will kill you."

Without missing a beat and without taking his eyes from Kuryakin's, Solo replied in the same tone of voice, "If I ever hurt her, I will let you." Irina looked from one man to the other; the two people she most cared about in the world. She was never sure what would have happened next if a new voice had not interrupted.

"Good morning," the properly British voice of Arthur Waverly called through the door. He stopped and surveyed the scene. "Good," he said decisively. "Everybody is here." If he sensed any awkwardness in the room or realized exactly what had just transpired, he gave no indication. "I have some good news and some rather bad news," Waverly continued. When he saw that all eyes were on him, he continued, "British Intelligence may have found Ashenko," a pause, "...or his trail anyway." Waverly unrolled the newspaper he had been carrying.

It was a local paper from the Crimea. Irina quickly scanned the headline which had a picture of a middle aged asian man. "Oh no," she whispered. "Not Shen."

Kuryakin looked over at his sister, his eyes hooded. "Would somebody like to fill me in, " Solo asked a bit peevishly.

Irina ran her hands over her eyes. "Give me five minutes," she said as she disappeared into the bedroom. She was back in three dressed in slacks and a shirt and her hair caught up in a ribbon. She took a deep breath. "Both Ilya and Mr. Waverly heard this yesterday. Shen Zheng Hui was my last case before...," she shuddered, "before I was sent to the Gulag. He was a doctor specializing in immunology. The short version is that he developed a way to quickly distribute medication or antidote to air borne viruses or toxins. When the Chinese found out, they had him weaponize a tool he had created to heal people." Irina smiled sadly. "He was one of the saddest men I had ever met. He truly had hoped to help man kind, but when his government commanded it, he had no choice."

"What happened to him," Solo asked.

"Based on the story, he committed suicide," Kuryakin said matter of factly. Then, more gently, "Rina, if he was depressed by what he had to do, it makes sense." Irina nodded sadly.

"But here is the conondrum," Waverly added. "Mr. Shen was supposed to have jumped out the window in hit hotel room in Riga. The problem is that his body was discovered about fifteen feet from the building...meaning...,"

"Meaning...," Solo finished for him, "...that Shen was pushed." He turned to Irina again. "So Ashenko has a device...its problematic, but is not enough for us to worrk."

"Yes, it is," the young woman replied bleakly. "When I...," a shaky breath, "when I knew Shen he was working on weaponizing a very virulent flu strain for the Chinese government...a virus so deadly that it would make the 1917 Influenza Epidemic look like a common cold."

"No virus was found in his room," Waverly said, his voice equally bleak. "That madman is out there with the tools to kill millions before World War III ever started.


End file.
